


Right Of Claim Two: Innocence’s Death

by 0_Ruthless_0



Series: Right of Claim [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 105,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_Ruthless_0/pseuds/0_Ruthless_0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing from my long piece last year. Giles and Buffy slowly become more relaxed around one another, and Giles is trying to accept what the future holds. But Ethan’s hints can’t prepare him for what is in his far more immediate future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Empty (What You Want)

Word Count: 3,647

Disclaimer: I’m afraid that I own none of this, aside from plot. Hell, I don’t even own the alphabet that it was written with.

A.N A huge thanks to Sparrow, for giving me one hell of a guiding hand with the editing process over the first few chapters, and pointing out what to watch out for in later ones.

** Right Of Claim Two: Innocence’s Death **

** Prologue: Empty (What You Want)  **

“Tell me how to sit around  
‘Cause I don’t think you want to know me now”  
\- Seether – Empty 

**Sunnydale 1998**

Shifting restlessly in the midst of a broken, uneasy sleep, Rupert was unaware of the touch of magic that kept him unconscious, forcing his body to rest if not his mind, , as used to the brush of Ethan’s power as he was these days. Normal sleep was hard to come by with everything that was on his mind, and an exhausted person was not what the world needed standing between it and the endgame.

Bloodshot eyes and constant weariness had been his companions over the last few weeks, ever since that night which should have been nothing more than a triumph, when the Master had been put to ground. 

The Slayer had smiled, and laughed, and dragged him out to celebrate with her other two friends, whilst Ethan had disappeared to do the gods only knew what. She had seemed fine then, a teenager without a care in the world. But thinking back, maybe he should have wondered at just how fine she had seemed, considering how close she had come to meeting her own death.

That was the curse of hindsight, though. Everything looked more obvious in retrospect. 

It was only about a week after the event that he had found out what he should have already realised, how truly prepared the Slayer had been to face her own death. That was something that no innocent should ever have had to prepare themselves for, let alone a child of Buffy’s age. Because even with everything she had seen and done, she was still a child, still an innocent in the strongest sense of the word.

She may have been the Slayer, the one girl in the entire world, but that didn’t change the fact that she was still only fifteen; and a far more innocent fifteen then he had ever been.

After she had returned from her week at her father’s home, she had settled back to life in Sunnydale quickly enough, patrolling and fighting when trouble came up, and still putting on that act that nothing was out of the ordinary. It had taken him a few days to realise that she was avoiding everyone’s company outside of when it was necessary.

Then he had tried to spend some time with her properly, to disprove his own suspicions, and while she hadn’t refused outright, she had closed off, shutting him out completely as soon as he’d said hello.. No order, no amount of nudging or pestering had been able to make her talk to him. But he could see from the set, closed expression on her face just how far she had let withdrawn.

It was as though a part of her had said goodbye to everyone and everything that mattered, and that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t died. Now, she couldn’t make herself want to live beyond the necessary, automated motions.

He had heard of the same effect in people who had been told that they were terminal, and then informed that it was a mistake. Most of them didn’t respond with joy, like one would have expected, but shock and even, in some cases, outright anger. At that moment the purpose of her life had been to give it up to save the world, and that had been denied to her.

It was only when he had tried to push her again, that she had snapped at him.

That was when his sleepless nights had begun. Even after so brief a time he loved her like she was some once-misplaced piece of his life, which he supposed that she was. He didn’t think that he could have cared about her any more if she had actually been his daughter, separated by years and life.

He was strong enough to admit that it broke his heart to see her like this. Strong enough to admit, if only to himself, that he hated the fact the he couldn’t think of any way to bring the girl that she’d been before back to life, aside from letting time do its work. He wasn’t entirely sure that time would be enough. If he could have thought of a way to shock her back to reality, then he would have done so without hesitation.

Of course, he dared not discuss it with Willow and Xander, because the absolute last thing that he wanted was to weigh them down, when they had already seen what the pressure of the world could do. Even though they had both shown an unquestionable strength, they were still children. If he were to be totally honest with himself, he would admit to feeling overprotective towards Xander, too, because he had some idea of what life would have in store for the boy.

Ethan’s advice was also less than useful; that he should push Buffy harder, send her to face more situations where her own life depended on her wits, so she couldn’t be distracted by anything else, and certainly not her own attitude.

He knew, of course he knew, that Slayers in past generations were raised solely as weapons; intelligent, well-primed and self-sufficient, but weapons none the less. The old belief was that humanity weakened a Slayer, made her less than able to do her job to the level of efficiency that was required, because it was impractical to expect a human to face things that didn’t have any sense of morality. 

Before he had seen Buffy’s humanity as a source of strength, but now he found that he was questioning himself, and what he’d allowed. Perhaps she would be less numb, more like herself, if she’d had less to loose when she had faced the Master.

He also had to question his attempt at allowing Buffy something that resembled a normal life and wonder whether it was no more than a self-centred response to his own past.

If he had cut her off from her friends, then would she have turned to him, or would she have turned on him? He had no idea, although he suspected the latter. Or maybe he should have pushed her harder, manipulated her into believing she was to be invulnerable? She would hardly have been the first Slayer to succumb to such a belief, after all. Not that the first option would have been all that possible, or the second at all practical. He just didn’t have that much control over her.

Of course, it was a moot point anyway; if she’d had less to loose, then she wouldn’t have been herself in the first place.

Never mind the fact that trying to get her to do something that she didn’t want to do was the start of a fast route down the long road to insanity.

There was no doubt as to whether he would be the only on questioning himself, either. After all, there were still plenty amongst the Council’s ranks that didn’t believe he was the right person for this. There were still times when he doubted it himself even though he was here, stumbling through the dark in a situation that there was no precedent for. Although what he was doing felt right, he had to wonder whether he was sending the world to its end simply by being here.

Then, there was the other thought that he couldn’t avoid, which crept back to taunt him, when he was at his weakest; that maybe it would have been better for the world if Buffy had been killed alongside Merrick. His heart ached at the thought of never meeting her, but it wasn’t his feeling and thoughts that were important. It was the fate of humanity that mattered.

**XXX**

Buffy closed her eyes, leaning against the wall of the dank alleyway where she’d fought and brushed the fresh dust off her clothing. The rough brick surface scraped against her skin and the chill air raised goose-bumps on her arm in that one spot where the vampire’s claws had almost tagged her. In all honesty she didn’t know why she hadn’t allowed it through her defences. Maybe she could just blame on some old instinct, something like _claws and skin don’t mix._

Yeah, that was it. Anyway, she’d practised that particular move so often that she could do it in her sleep, which she damn near was.

Looking at the rip in her sleeve, she sighed. It wasn’t even that she particularly liked feeling like this, but she just didn’t know how to deal.

She had seen the darkening circles under Giles’s eyes. What it took to worry a Watcher bound to a vampire she didn’t exactly know, but it looked like he was getting close to the edge of his limit.

She had also seen the concern in her friends and in her mom’s actions, and even though she could pretend not to notice it, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with that either. Not when she couldn’t even really muster the energy to care about herself these days.

Her mom didn’t even know what was wrong, but she knew, from the way mom behaved around her lately, that she had noticed a marked change in her attitude, ever since she had come back far too late on prom night. If parental oblivion was no longer working to her favour, then she knew that she really had a problem.

Sighing, she shook out her arm, loosening the muscles up a little, and pushed herself away from the wall.

She could wish it as often as she wanted; that her life was different, that she didn’t have all of these monsters and people around her that she didn’t have any choice but to deal with, but it didn’t make a single shred of difference to the truth. She hated the concern of those around her, because she could no longer care about herself.

It was that simple, and in the same moment it was that complicated.

Without any conscious thought about it she found herself walking towards the direction of Angel’s mansion. The only time that she ever felt anything, these days, was when she was with him.

It was as though with every kiss that she stole from the darkness she felt a little more comfortable within her own body. She didn’t know whether it was because for those few moments she was shrugging off the expectations of the world, or because being with someone that didn’t have to care, she no longer felt as thought she were under any pressure to care about the world herself, or if it was a combination of the two, or something completely different.

All that she knew was that when she was with him she felt herself relax and was comfortable in her own head and in her own body. Her skin didn’t feel too tight, and the expressions that flitted across her face no longer felt like a mask that she was forcing herself to wear for the benefit of the people around her.

In those few moments she could once again belong to herself. She no longer owed the world her life, humanity, future and freedom, because Angel was just for her. He was the only tiny part of the world that was hers and hers alone, that didn’t heap exception and expectation onto her shoulders until it weighed her down so badly that she no longer felt as though she could stand up straight under the weight of it.

She knew that Giles had told her to be careful to watch herself around Angel, but she saw no reason to be anything less that herself, and certainly no reason to deny herself his company or his affections. After all, a vampire wasn’t human, wasn’t alive. She loved him, and furthermore, she felt that he genuinely cared about her. Since he had a soul and he didn’t kill she couldn’t see any way that it could possibly end in heartbreak. 

Giles had called the soul a curse and it was clear that there were times that living was painful for Angel, but she didn’t see how any of that could ever hurt her, not when he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her, either from himself or from anything else that might have dared to threaten her.

Who knew, maybe with his protection she might even eventually have the time to recover enough to want the world to exist around her again. 

**XXX**

_It was dark, but far from too dark to see. He’d closed the bedroom door, and jammed a wedge under it, in spite of the fact that such a thing would give his dad just one more thing to yell about if he tried to come it. Not that Tony needed the excuse, when he was perfectly happy to yell at a breath that was too loud._

_So, the door was jammed, and he’d pulled the curtains even though it was the middle of the afternoon. The water-stain on the wallpaper that had once been white seemed darker than it usually was, and it was almost like one of those 3D pictures that he had never got the hang of looking at the right way._

_Half-covering it was an X-Men poster that he’d conned the guy in the comic store into letting him have, and slightly off from that was a framed picture of himself, Willow and Jesse. He hadn’t bothered to put anything else up, half-because he had nothing else that he wanted to stare at, and half-because his dad had told him that if he punched any more holes in the wallpaper with drawing pins then he would be spending his next several weekends re-papering the room._

_He glanced up from the comic that he had been staring at without reading, towards the sound of creaking, from the loose floorboard which he had long ago got into the habit of steeping over. Weight settled on the end of his bed as Jesse sat down and Xander sat up a little further, offering him a tentative smile._

_Exactly the same sort of expression that Jesse gave right back to him, as he reached down and rested a hand on Xander’s ankle, thumb drifting lightly over the gap between bones as he sat, one leg over the end of the bed and the other arched up, head twisted back to meet his gaze. Xander didn’t say a word, simply wondered if it would ever feel less awkward, less personal or less intense. They hadn’t moved past the occasional kissing, and the unsure touches, but he supposed that there had to be a moment, even for him, when it would finally feel like it was all falling into place._

_It was as much a case of the fact that according to Life! With Tony Harris real men didn’t do this, as it was all of his sure uncertainties. If that made any sense at all. Or maybe it was on par with the fact that he was still worried about trying to please someone who only saw him as a way to add child welfare cheques to the beer tab._

_Jesse shifted, stopped with the ankle-rubbing, and twisted himself so that he could stretch out fully over Xander, muscle to muscle, not that Xander had too many muscles, and body to body. His heart was pounding in his chest, like it wanted to burst out, and that wasn’t uncommon either, not when things got to here. The truth of it was that he liked Jesse. Maybe not in the same sort of way that he loved Willow, but that was a no-go option, he’d already proven that._

_Willow was smart; she deserved someone who was her equal, someone that could give her everything that she deserved out of life. As much as he wished it could have been, that someone wasn’t him._

_Without trying to let his mind think too much about things he raised his hands and rested one on Jesse’s shoulder, and slipped the other under Jesse’s shirt, resting it against his side, as the hand that wasn’t supporting Jesse’s full weight slipped under Xander’s shirt in return and began to play over his chest, cool fingers drifting over the hidden expanse of skin, as he licked at suddenly dry lips, and Jesse smiled at that and leaned down to kiss him._

_Xander closed his eyes as Jesse’s tongue pushed into his mouth. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that one of these days, and probably one soon at that; this wasn’t going to be enough for Jesse. Probably wasn’t going to be enough for him either, but he would face that hurdle when he got to it._

_For now, this would do them._

_Jesse’s hand slid higher, feeling cooler than it had before against the heat of his skin, and a pair of fingers pinched at a nipple that was already standing as he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue further into Xander’s mouth, like he’d turned on a tap that was marked confidence. He wasn’t just kissing him, he was invading his mouth, like all that mattered was getting to know every single inch of it, and he could remember, but he couldn’t quite remember the only time that Jesse had ever kissed him like this, and all of a sudden something about this felt wrong, between the hand that wasn’t warming, and the lips and tongue that seemed to be getting cooler as this continued, and he opened his eyes in order to see Jesse again, and tell himself that he was overreacting._

_As his eyes opened the first thing the he realized was that the afternoon had changed to night-time dark. The second was that he wasn’t flat on his back in his room any longer, but pushed back against the wall in the depths of the Bronze, bright light playing over the swirling crowed that he couldn’t touch, making the entire scene feel surreal. Jesse leaned into him, pinning him with an unnatural strength that Xander had never known him to have. As he looked into those eyes that he’d thought he would know for the rest of his life, they blazed yellow and his face changed, ridges erupting from his forehead._

_He wasn’t sure where the stake had come from, but it was grasped so tightly in his hand that he could feel splinters biting into his palm, and even if he didn’t know anything else, he knew that he wasn’t going to use it, not on Jesse, and Jesse knew it too .With a leer, he nudged a knee between Xander’s legs and pressed it up to rub against Xander’s half-hard cock, and he told himself that it was adrenalin alone that was doing that to him. Jesse’s tongue left his mouth as he tilted his head to one side, and buried his nose into the hollow at the side of Xander’s neck._

_He inhaled deeply, as though trying to drown himself in the way that Xander smelled, before that cold tongue slipped through parted lips, and tickled at the side of his neck. A strength that he knew he couldn’t fight still held him there. A cool breath, over the dampness made him shiver, as Jesse spoke._

_“You smell like you were made for me,” he breathed, eyes glowing with something that seemed like more than just hunger, before leaning in a little further and biting at the side of his neck. Xander gasped and raised a hand to the sting of it, although he had no idea what he was planning on doing, whether he wanted to try and shove him away, or draw him closer and give up there and then, surrender and tell him to take what was his._

_The decision was torn from him, even though it hadn’t really been a decision anyway, as someone fleeing in the panic was slammed into Jesse’s back, and the stake was driven home. In his desperation to get away from the ash he pulled backwards, and slammed his head against the wall._

A sharp pain bloomed from the point of impact and the world swum away, and as he blinked his bedroom swum into focus. It wasn’t the first time that he had woken himself in such a manner since that night, pain spreading from where he’d slammed back against the headboard and he couldn’t do anything aside from lay there, gasping for breath and shaking.

The panic passed and was slowly replaced by a maudlin mood as the night began to drag past. He raised a hand and played a finger over the scar, the last thing that Jesse had left him with. He had spent more nights than he could count, trying to figure it out.

In the books that he’d read, more books than he’d ever seen before in his life, it said that a vampire carried a person’s memories but that the soul was gone. But the memories didn’t explain why Jesse had made the declaration that he had. He’d tried to figure it out himself, but hadn’t achieved anything beyond giving himself a headache.

He knew that there was always the possibility of asking Giles, of course, and seeing what he had to say about it, but for some reason he was reluctant to do so. Almost like something was telling him to be afraid of what he might turn up, which was just stupid really, wasn’t it?

And yet he still couldn’t shake it, that maybe his reluctance wasn’t quite so stupid.

Either way, the wondering was driving him up the wall, and that wasn’t good for himself, or for any of his friends. Not for the first time, he told himself that he was going to bring it up next week.

Not for the first time, he told himself that this time he would actually follow through with it.


	2. The Devil (Details)

Wordcount: 6,296

** Chapter 1 – The Devil (Details) **

“Oh, oh, running through the details  
Oh, oh, I try to quit but I fail”  
-Details – Goodnight Nurse

**England 1980**

The first thing that Rupert became aware of was that his head was killing him. There was also a dull, metallic taste on his tongue and in the back of his throat, and what felt like… _oh, Christ, please don’t let that be fur…_ stuck between two of his teeth, at the side of his mouth.

He felt like he was going to be sick, but couldn’t actually bring anything up. Every muscle felt like it had been pulled apart by some mad doctor and then stuck back together with staples and glue. Still, at least he could think again; even if he couldn’t actually think beyond the miserable bloody state that he was in. He thought he had a memory of Ethan laughing at his curses and settling down beside him, although he was alone now, so he wasn’t entirely sure of what was reality, and what was merely his own fucked perception. 

With a grunt of effort he pushed himself towards the edge of the bed, and then his muscles lost all strength again. After what felt like an eternity of effort he simply let his hand dangle down over the side. Closing his eyes again he focused on nothing more than the sound of his breathing.

It could have been ten minutes, or it could have been ten hours later when he became aware of a presence standing near him, and a cool hand reached down and drew back an eyelid, staring at the pupil for a few moments.

“I see you’re back in your right mind again.”

_Oh, just kill me now;_ he only just stopped himself from saying the words out loud as he bit his tongue, in case they were taken literally rather than as just a complaint.

That voice seemed overly loud.

Before he could make a futile attempt at striking the hand away it was withdrawn. Bracing himself for the ridiculously bright light he cautiously opened a single eye, and winced.

“Could’ve just fucking asked me.” His voice sounded rough, as though he had been yelling.

If Ethan had been human, the way that its thumb was now running over his cheekbone would have been affectionate, with maybe a touch of concern, and not the farce that he knew it was. An amused-seeming half-smile tugged at the edge of the mask that it wore as it stared at him in a way that never failed to make him uneasy.

“Feeling better?” it asked, with only a tiny hint of mocking in its tone.

The question seemed rather left-field considering it could see exactly what sort of state he was in. But that glint in its eyes told him not to be overly hasty in replying. It wasn’t referring to his physical state, or at least he didn’t think that it was. He didn’t even have to bite his tongue to stop himself from replying, considering how much effort it took to talk right now.

“Less on edge then you were earlier?” it finally clarified.

Quietly, he took stock of himself. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck, he was bone-tired, and his head throbbed rather pointedly with every movement. But compared to the last few months, where he’d been constantly on edge, exhausted, snappy, unable to think straight, or shake his tension-induced headache, he did feel better.

He couldn’t remember any more than a few flashes of what he’d done, and nor could he stop thinking about how freeing and refreshing it had been, to have no control over his actions, how good it had been to not care. Never mind the people that had got in his way, he wanted that freedom from responsibility again, with a desperation that he found frightening.

Finally, as Ethan left him alone with his thoughts again, he blinked back a fierce stinging from the corners of his eyes.

He’d been afraid of the weight put on his shoulders, when he’d first found out about his destiny. He’d been afraid of his father when the man had struck him, even though he’d known other people who’d had it far worse whilst growing up. He’d been fucking terrified of his first vampire when he’d met it, and even more so of the gang that had set upon him on that fateful night when it seemed his life had been decided. Then of course, he had been afraid of Ethan. Anyone in their right mind would have been afraid of it.

This, however, was the first time that he had ever been afraid of himself, and what he might eventually do under Ethan’s influence and tutelage. He’d thought himself stronger, but who the hell was he kidding? It couldn’t be any more than weakness that kept him desiring freedom from himself could it?

He’d also grown complacent in this screwed-over mockery of his old life, in spite of himself, and that was something else he found worrying. It was time to give up this aura of reluctant acceptance, and start fighting towards his actual freedom again. He couldn’t just give up, lie here and keep accepting it any longer. There had to be some way out.

Once he’d accepted his fucked-up life, it had felt easier for a while, but ease was too high a price to pay when it was his own morality that hung in the balance, wasn’t it? Was it?

He frowned to himself, trying to think honestly about a question that once upon a time he would have been able to answer without hesitation. If there were going to be innocent lives hanging in the balance and there surely would, as the other night had proved, then it was his duty to pick up the fight again. It was really that simple really.

He didn’t want to turn into that monster that he had become the other night again, any more than he wanted to be turned and left with a soul. He couldn’t afford to wait for it to decide that the time was right to turn him. What use was a soul without mortality, morality or humanity? 

If he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t see the world in the same way. Human lives would become an acceptable price, whatever the outcome, and that blood wasn’t something he wanted on his hands. The Council had always allowed the end to justify the means, but he wasn’t that type of person.

He hadn’t managed to find much material about vampires with souls, but what he had found seemed to be conclusive; the spirit was either a curse, a punishment which usually resulted in the cursed one facing the sunlight. It was extremely rare that the soul was bound to a person before death, and in that scenario the combination of human feelings and predatory need was said to drive a person mad.

He couldn’t see Ethan bothered by the possibility of a mad … pet, either. Pet, because it sure as hell wouldn’t view him as anything else, would it? He was no more than a toy to it, a new game to pass a few decades. It would never see him as an equal. He felt sickened by the thought that he even could have contemplated accepting such a life.

As the sound of footsteps penetrated his new wall of misery he felt another wave of nausea ripple through him. A firm hand made contact with his shoulder, pushing him over onto his back before it helped him into a sitting position and brushed damp hair off his sweat-soaked forehead.

Only now did he realise how cold he was, as it raised a glass of lukewarm water to his lips, and helped him to swallow a few mouthfuls, which he was surprised to find didn’t threaten to come up again.

“Another day of rest and you’ll be back on your feet cursing at me with all of your usual vehemence, I think.”

Again its tone of voice sounded amused. It raised the glass to his lips again, and he shook off the thought of how much such a human gesture would have meant to him before he’d hardened his resolve again. It couldn’t be allowed to matter now, least he shake off his new-found defiance.

Before the year was out, he promised himself, as his hand balled into a loose fist under the blankets. Before the year was out, then even if he wasn’t actually free from Ethan, then he would have found a way to separate himself from the beast.

He couldn’t counter the old magic directly, that much was obvious by now, but there had to be a way all the same. All that he had to do was approach the problem from a different angle of attack, and find something that he hadn’t considered until now.

When he had tried before, he had been looking for a way between the cracks, or he had tried to challenge its hold over him with determination brute strength. That had nearly killed him, so it was out of the question.

But still, there had to be a way. He just had to be smart enough, aware enough to be able to spot escape for what it was when it was eventually presented.

Starring at that glint in its gaze he wondered exactly how amused it would have been if it had known what he was planning.

**Sunnydale 1998**

It was peaceful in the library, with only the sounds of his breathing, the hum of the air conditioner and the rain against the window. The heat had broken, making way for a true Southern California rainstorm, made just that little bit more impressive by Sunnydale’s close proximity to the sea.

It would have been even more peaceful if he hadn’t had both Willow and Xander trying to stare him down.

“You shouldn’t talk down to us,” Willow said. We’re not children, Giles. If you think, for five minutes that neither of us has noticed the way that Buffy’s been acting lately… I mean, she just stares through us like we’re not even there. And I know you said to give her time, but we’ve done that, already. It’s not like she actually died, or anything. Okay, so she probably thought for a while there that she was going to, but it’s not like she did, so I just don’t…”

He interrupted the constant stream of talking, with a single raised hand, as her tone of voice began to grate on his nerves. If it had been appropriate then he would have cast a spell to ensure her continued silence, but it probably wasn’t, so the point was rather moot. 

But, still…

_And today’s lesson in casting is, little witch…_

The other hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You presume to know how long it should take for someone who resigned herself to her own death, and walked out to meet it to recover, do you? Perhaps you’ve done such a thing before yourself?” He may have stopped himself from snarling at her, but he knew from the crushed look on Willow’s face that there was more than just the regular irritability there.

“I just wanted to help,” she muttered, looking as small as she sounded.

He hated feeling so on edge. He hated opening his mouth and not knowing what was going to come out of it, whether a snap, or an insult, or the beginnings of a tirade. He also knew that it could probably be put to rest if he could have some much-needed sleep, but for the moment that seemed like a lost cause in itself. When he did sleep normally, it was either patchy or he was disturbed by bad dreams, which was something that only grew worse on those nights when Ethan had told him that he’d made him rest.

Furthermore, now he had Xander glaring at him, and he didn’t have to hazard a guess at why. He’d just insulted the boy’s closest friend. Good enough cause for anyone to be pissed off with him.

Closing his eyes, he let out a slow breath. “Look, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, I suppose.”

“No _‘I suppose’_ about it.” The boy bristled and his glare didn’t change in intensity at all. Giles found himself torn between wanting to make an attempt to placate him, while he knew that it wasn’t his place to do so. Still, without Ethan’s old threat hanging over his head he thought that he could have still done something to settle him.

It didn’t take being a Watcher to see how Xander relaxed a little, his expression softening and his eyes loosing that hard edge when Willow bit her lip and seemed to recover some of her confidence in the wake of his apology. The boy’s original interest may have been towards Jesse but the true dead couldn’t hold sway over the living, and if Xander had replaced his original affection for Jesse with a willingness to put himself under Willow’s protection, then it certainly wasn’t his place to interfere in the natural order of things. 

He had no right to interfere in the boy’s life, and that was that. 

It wasn’t even worth thinking about, truly. He couldn’t have gone there even if he’d wanted to, and he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t consider such a thing. His fondness for the boy was a genuine desire to keep him safe, at least until the Witch had matured and grown strong enough to be able to take care of the boy, and because he knew that even with that solution on offer, life wasn’t going to be easy for him. It never was for a submissive, no matter the circumstances around him or her.

He only hoped, for the boy’s sake, that Willow would be strong enough by the time Xander matured. If she wasn’t, then life as Xander knew it was going to wind up taking a drastic turn for the worse, unless the Slayer stepped up to the plate, and he couldn’t see that happening, no matter how fond of Xander Buffy may have been.

It took more than just fondness, after all. In the end it was about power.

Drawing another slow, calming breath he circled the desk, pressed a brief touch to Xander’s shoulder, and then squeezed Willow’s.

“I know that all you want to do is help Buffy, but in some cases there is nothing that one can do. You’ve seen that not even I command over every circumstance. All you… we… can really do for her, is work at picking up the slack where we can, and be ready to help her when she is ready to live again. Now, more than ever, she needs the both of you to be there for her, alright?”

He could see from Willow’s stance that she was considering what he’d said. Xander, on the other hand, tended to furrow his brow, and Giles could see thoughts in his expression, but none of that showed in the way that he stood. After what seemed like an extended wait she turned to him, and nodded.

“I can do that. Or, at least I think I can. But you have to make sure you actually let us know when you need us, okay? Even if it’s for a hand with research; I don’t want you trying to do this by yourself.”

He saw the determination in her gaze, and he respected that in her. He certainly wouldn’t go running to her, when he had Ethan at his side, but he did respect that. It felt like a little weight lifted off his shoulders to agree to her request, even if there were some circumstances in which he would never take her up on it.

Without another word she left and Xander slowly turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against his desk. Some deep instinct told him to step forward, put himself into the boy’s personal space, so he took a couple of steps backwards and sat himself down at one of the tables.

“You’re good with words,” Xander said softly, “But you and I both know that Willow and I are going to be the last people you call on, if you can help it. You want to keep us out of it, and that’s understandable. But that’s the thing with Willow; she’s always been trusting towards adults. I’m good at observing things, see? Gotta be, growing up with my folks. Gotta know when to… oh, forget it; -either way, I can tell that you think she has some potential to be able to defend herself, but no access to it. And for some strange reason you seem to want to wrap me up in bubble-wrap, or something along those lines. I could tell you right now that you don’t need to, that we’re both more than capable of taking care of ourselves, but I know it wouldn’t make a difference either, would it?”

_If only you knew_ Giles thought, but wouldn’t say it.

“That doesn’t change the fact that the both of you are still children, and the last thing that I want is to place either of you in unnecessary danger. You’ll be in enough without my adding to it.”

“You think I care about danger? Just living here is dangerous, isn’t it?”

“You may not, but I do. I already have a suitably powerful ally at my side.” He scratched at Ethan’s mark on the inside of his arm, a habit that he’d developed without even realising it, “Now, was there anything else that you wanted, other than to try to scold me?”

Xander looked at his feet for a few moments, and Giles could see that the furrow which told him that the boy was thinking was back again. He didn’t prompt or push him, as the boy raised a hand to scratch at the point just above his shoulder, a nervous habit that he’d noticed almost since the day that he’d met him.

“Your ally; -your partner, isn’t he? Ethan? Still haven’t met the guy, not even after he apparently saved the day with that Master-thing.”

“Pray that you never have a cause to, either. He’s…” Giles caught himself, and raised a hand to tug at the earring he wore, hoping to cover his hesitation, “It is nothing like Buffy’s Angel. The only time it will ever stick its head into our business is when there’s chaos stirring.”

Quietly he cursed the slip that he’d made. The last time that he had done so had been a long time ago, and he’d been careful not to make he same mistake twice. He could remember the day with utter clarity, when he’d last called Ethan him. As he still held fast to the belief that referring to Ethan as if he were a person was the start of a slope that he didn’t want to go down, so it was no real surprise that he didn’t slip more often. As long as Ethan was still inhuman; -as long as the ancient was an it, then he felt that he could justify a hell of a whole lot more to himself.

Still, he didn’t let his annoyance show on his face. He couldn’t afford to have the boy uneasy around him, not if he wanted to be able to protect him until the day that he couldn’t.

“Was this leading anywhere, other than to a misplaced desire to meet Ethan, Xander?”

He saw what had been resolve crumple to indecision, then to uncertainty and outright hesitation.

“Guess not,” Xander said, “or not to anywhere that matters, anyway.”

Giles managed to stop himself from sighing out loud, “If it matters to you, then it matters. Surely you know that you can talk to me about anything, no matter how silly it may seem to you.”

“Yeah, I do, I just…” Xander contemplated his feet again, “I just guess it’s not really all that important. It… it’s just me being me, I guess. Reading too much into things, and it wouldn’t be the first time that I did either, gotta face that, too. Just… just forget it.”

The boy pushed himself away from the desk, and circled past him as he headed for the door. Still, he couldn’t let him go without trying once more.

“If you do decide that you want to talk. About anything, and I do mean anything, then you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, you’re not hard to track down.”

He watched as the door swung shut behind Xander, and stretched, releasing a tension that he hadn’t realised he’d been feeling. He had done all that he could do, for the moment. Closing his eyes he rubbed his eyelids. The only question was where to go from here. Things couldn’t go on like this indefinitely, otherwise something was going to give and he wasn’t entirely sure that it wouldn’t be his tolerance, when it did. This had seemed so much simpler in theory.

**XXX**

Xander leaned against the wall outside the library taking a few moments out for himself. Tilting his head back, he tried to wrestle his thoughts into some sort of order.

So there went his courage and determination again. Couldn’t really say he was surprised, either. He needed to stop psyching himself out, maybe then he could have a conversation with the man that didn’t end with him making an excuse and leaving. Or not making an excuse, as things went; letting an excuse be made for him.

For all he knew, he was right and reading something into those words that traced a well-worn path through his head, something that had never been there. He thought he could understand Giles’s desire to keep him and Willow away from Ethan’s influence, though. From what little he’d gathered about it, it didn’t exactly seem to be a gem.

He knew that he didn’t get why Giles stuck with it, knew that he probably never would, that he was only seeing a fraction of the story there, what with the anger that bled through in Giles tone occasionally, when he spoke of Ethan. He didn’t think that Willow noticed it, as subtle as it was.

Like he’d said, though, he was fairly good at reading the signs in between the signals; had to be, to avoid being chewed out. It was even possible that Giles didn’t realise exactly how much he gave away at times, when he spoke of it.

At the school entrance, he found Willow waiting for him. Half a year of doing this now, and it still felt decidedly odd, to be in the school after hours. Schools were meant to be filled with noise and people and squabbles and sound and collisions, not this eerie silence and emptiness. It made it feel like the library used to before he started spending time in there.

“Did you do what you wanted to?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged, “Sort of. We almost talked, that’ll do for now. So, what next? I don’t know about you, but I’m not really in a hurry to go home.” 

He remembered something as he went to tuck a hand into his pocket, and grinned at her. 

“Hey, I’ve got ten bucks on me. We could always head over to the Double Meat Palace for illicit munchies.”

She opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again, staring at something down the end of the street. He raised his head and followed her line of sight, to see Buffy heading around the corner, going in a very familiar direction.

“Okay, is it just me or is the resident Slayer spending way too much time at the home of one tall, dark and scary?”

Willow looked at him again, hope obvious in her expression, “But that’s got to be a good thing, right? I mean, spending time with her boyfriend is something completely normal. Okay, so maybe he’s not completely normal, but still… if she’s spending all this time with him, then maybe she’s starting to feel… better?” The last word of that sentence held more hope than the rest of it combined.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, knowing that he sounded unconvincing even to himself.

At least Buffy’s attraction to Angel was easy enough to understand, even if he didn’t like it. Certainly it was a lot easier to understand than Giles’s own friendship. If Buffy liked the idea of something unchanging and unchangeable, in the face of her life, then yeah, he got that. Maybe he even understood it better then she did herself, having had someone that he cared for pretty much stolen from him. Then again, he still didn’t know exactly what she’d been through, throughout her life, either. Much like Giles was, she was guarded about some things. 

Sure, he’d seen enough to draw a few conclusions, but not enough to set a solid foundation in stone.

“…you listening, Xander?” Willow asked, snapping him from his thought.

“Huh?”

“I said, sure, Double Meat sounds great to me.”

He twisted his expression into the grin that he knew she was expecting, “Cool. Because, at least, recognizable, you know? Unlike the mystery meat in the cafeteria lunch.”

“Unless they actually source the Double Meat from the school cafeteria.”

“Now, Willow.” He sighed, a drawn-out, put-upon sound, “Do you really want to put me off of eating there for the rest of my life?”

She shuddered, as though she’d only just realised what she had said, “Okay, bad thought. Strike that.”

“Very, very bad thought, and can we please agree never to go there again?”

“Done,” she nodded and pulled a face.

The streets never really changed unless something apocalyptic going down and tonight was no different. The occasional vampire hunted along the streets, but most hung out in the sewers for now and they didn’t come across anything that could really be regarded as trouble on the walk from the High School over to the good half of town.

As they settled down at a table to wait for the food, Willow took a long drink through her straw, before turning her attention back to Xander. 

“The streets aren’t exactly crawling with vampires, though, are they?” she said quietly. “That means she’s still got to be slaying.”

“Maybe,” Xander shrugged, “or maybe they all went to ground with the death of the Master. I mean, having the big guy killed has gotta send a message, right? That there’s a bigger, big bad dog on the block.”

“Xander,” Willow sounded reproachful.

“I just don’t like it. Not knowing exactly what’s going on, whether this quietness is a build-up to something, or just because all the bloodsuckers are running scared, or because Buffy’s doing what she’s meant to be doing. I just wish that she’d say something more than ‘hello’, you know?”

“I do know. But what can we honestly do, if she’s determined to avoid us?”

Xander frowned to himself, “But it’s not us, is it? It’s life that she doesn’t want to face. So, I dunno, maybe if she saw us acting like things are as normal as they ever were? Maybe we could stop acting like she’s going to shatter, or something. Encourage her to act normally, rather than encourage her to … to carry on the way that she’s acting.”

“But I am normal around her. I don’t act like she’s delicate.”

Xander looked at her.

“Okay, maybe I do keep a couple of things to myself, but…”

He knew that he was on the right track, and the way that he had backed down earlier in the face of Giles’ questioning gave him the determination that he needed right now in order to make his point.

“But nothing. We’ve all been acting around her like she’s less capable of managing than she is. Even Giles had been. And if that’s the way we’ve been acting, then it’s certainly not going to make her sit up and realise that life goes on.”

“No harm in trying, right?”

“Right,” he nodded, and fell silent, as the food was finally brought over.

**XXX**

Buffy had lost track of time, drifting as she was in Angel’s cool, dark gaze and the sensations of his hands on her shoulders, his cool lips tasting and chasing hers in darts and teases. It felt right, his height above her, and his strength right there for her to lean against. In spite of the time that she had spent with him she was sure that this was one thing in life that would never go wrong and never lose its thrill.

She tilted her head back and held him a little closer, a little tighter and he leaned down, kissing her properly. She drew it out, because she knew that when he broke away this time that would be the end of her escape from herself for this night.

Sure enough, when he broke away from her ten minutes later, it was to nudge her away from him, putting a little space in between the two of them.

“Buffy,” his voice sounded pained, “we shouldn’t be…”

“Don’t start that again, please,” she cut across his words, “we’ve had that talk before. I’m old enough to know what I want, and what I’m getting into.”

“You’re still…”

“Oh, don’t give me that you’re _still a child_ patronizing bullshit; because that’s all it is, bullshit. I can’t take any more of that. If life was measured in experience rather than age, then you know I’d be older than most people out there.”

“Buffy.”

“No, don’t you _Buffy_ me. It’s amazing what facing your death does for you perspective.”

He sighed softly, and grasped her shoulder, “I know.”

“If you know that, then you know that I know what I’m talking about.”

“That still doesn’t mean that it’s…”

Again she cut him off, “You know what? I’m done with talking for the night. I’ve gotta get home, go to bed, then hit the streets. You’re welcome to meet me outside the Bronze in oh, say, an hour, but not if you’re going to try and carry this particular conversation on.”

She twisted away from him, pulling her shoulder from his grasp and grabbed the stake that she had put down on the table near the front door.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her back as she wrenched the door open.

She didn’t respond as she headed out into the darkness.

**XXX**

“Something’s building.”

Giles recognized the voice, even as he spun from his observation of Angel’s door and Buffy’s exit through it. He had taught himself long ago not to jump when Ethan stepped out of the shadows without warning. If the ancient vampire wanted to be heard or felt in its approach, then it would be. If not, then there wasn’t a single hope this side of hell.

“You don’t say,” he replied, dryly.

“Something’s building, and your Slayer has to be ready to face it when it comes. I can’t interfere, not this time Rupert. Nest’s old loyalists are gathering, coming together for something big, something that will change the face of everything if it comes to fruition.”

“Vampire are hierarchal, aren’t they?” Rupert’s voice was cold and low, as he started to walk, shadowing Buffy’s route home. “You defeated the old Master; if you stepped into its place and took out the dissenters then surely they’d sit up and pay attention.”

“It’s not my place to, Rupert. This is her life; the task that she’s been charged with. Even if it were my place to step in, I’m not sure that I would. Controlling a pack is a game for fools. Besides, the result of this new game could be quite interesting. Change will certainly creep across the world if it comes to fruition. It would be an example of Chaos at its finest, and once that change begins to come through then no amount of planning would be able to save anyone..”

“If you’re going to be of no use, then you’re welcome to go and fuck yourself. I don’t care about your fucking devotion to bloody Chaos. I’ve had more than enough of it for this lifetime.”

“No faith in your Slayer, Rupert?” There was only a touch of amusement in its tone and none of the anger that he had been hoping to prod into life.

He didn’t reply, because he wasn’t sure how to, without sounding as though he didn’t trust her. Which wouldn’t have been a problem before, but since she had faced the Master there was no denying that she had changed.

“You should trust her, you know,” Ethan’s voice became a little more serious. “This is her life, after all. She wouldn’t have been given it, if she weren’t equipped to handle it.”

“But you saved her.”

It grasped his shoulder with one hand, spun him around, and took his chin with its other, forcing his head up so that he had no choice but to meet its gaze.

“No, I didn’t. I stopped a fool from throwing his life to the dogs, and mine by way of consequence.”

“She would have been killed,” his voice rose a little and became harsher. “The prophecy said it clearly.”

“Yes, and prophecies are such simplistic things that they can be believed word for word, and there’s no way around them. What you did, Rupert,” it growled low in its throat and its fingers on his chin tightened, “was cut her off from a chance to realise her own strength.” The anger in its tone was very real.

Rupert braced himself for it the explosion that he felt was imminent.

It carried on, “You went wading into a situation that was well over your bloody head and, as a result, fate had its hand forced. You know that it’s well beyond due time that she proved her strength to both herself and you. Furthermore it’s also about time you started acting like a real Watcher. You are meant to support and guide her, not tackle her challenges for her.”

Ethan’s eyes glistened with that _do you really want to argue with me_ look, which was a combination of anger, frustration, challenge and taunt. And no, he didn’t really want to pick a fight with it, as much as he had been trying to a few minutes ago. It really wasn’t a good idea to pick a fight with something like Ethan. Not that knowing that had stopped him from trying several dozen times over the years.

Still, there was a difference between throwing himself on Ethan’s temper when he knew that the elder was genuinely pissed off and reacting to a situation and doing it unintentionally. Considering how much anger bled through in Ethan’s tone, Rupert was surprised that Ethan had been as easy on him as it had been over the last couple of weeks.

A car drove past, throwing harsh light over them and picking out Ethan’s outline with an almost fire-like yellow light which Giles found rather appropriate.

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t have tried to save her?” he couldn’t keep his own anger out of his voice, as much as he wasn’t prepared to challenge it.

“I’m saying, boy, that you should have let her save herself,” Ethan’s voice dropped to a low hiss.

He locked his gaze with Ethan’s, “Don’t you fucking call me boy.”

Its grasp tightened fractionally on his chin before it let go.

“You will still be a child until you learn to control those impulsive actions and reactions of yours. A child doesn’t think rationally. With the effort I’ve put into teaching you how to behave you are slightly better than you were, but you’ve still got a lot to learn about this world, Rupert.”

“Tell me how the hell I’m meant to be her Watcher, then, if you won’t let me close to her?” his voice raised a little, cutting through the night that little bit clearer.

“I’m not stopping you from doing what you’re meant to. To the contrary, I’m trying to keep you from interfering where you shouldn’t.”

He took a slow breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, fully aware that he was beginning to push at Ethan’s patience.

There was no point in arguing, not right now.

“Look,” he said, struggling to keep his tone of voice even, as he took a step back pulling out of its grasp and twisting away from it, “I’m going to take a sweep through a couple of the cemeteries. If you insist on continuing then this can we please do so at home? Buffy isn’t doing her job unless it’s a life or death situation, so someone has to keep up appearances.”

He glanced back and wasn’t surprised to find an empty patch of air beside him. He knew that Ethan would have still heard everything that he’d said, but had already said all that it wanted to.

He was good at keeping up appearances, at wearing masks. He had to be, considering he’d had so much practice Smile, and pretend that everything was normal for yet another day. Pretend that he could handle it, that nothing ever got under his skin or worried him, that he wasn’t worried about Buffy’s state of mind, or about how much longer he could keep living two fake lives.

Ethan was right in that she needed something to bring her back to herself, if only because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle this balancing act.

Just another day at the fucking office, wasn’t it?


	3. Choices (Of the Unwary)

Wordcount: 5,455

** Chapter 2 – Choices (Of the Unwary) **

“I seek to pure what’s deep inside  
Frightened of this thing that I’ve become”  
-Africa – Toto 

**England 1980**

The air smelt like it did just before a storm set in, with the heavy, almost metallic smell of rain. A sticky, humid breeze tugged at Rupert’s shirt, and he hated the way that the heat almost seemed to dull his senses. He longed for humidity to give way to the rain that had been on the horizon all day to cool him down a little.

A few years ago, when his life had still been his own he would have been cutting across the field behind the stable at the back of his father’s property right about now, to throw himself into the river to cool off. Instead, he was here on the outskirts of London, dripping with sweat as he made his way through streets that were still shimmering with an unexpected heat, and down an alleyway that stunk with the smell of old beer and piss. Cigarette butts and broken glass had been swept into the corners. The temperature almost seemed to make the smell into a living entity.

He had been back on his feet for the last three weeks, and while he wasn’t spitting hatred at Ethan, he was doing his best to ignore it as much as possible without inciting its anger. The last thing that he wanted to do was piss it off, while he was trying to chase down rumours.

After all he knew how to play it so he figured he may as well keep those skills in practise. It wouldn’t do to lose any of those just when he might need them.

The game was simple enough to play; do what was ordered, follow the curfew, and act behave to the standard that was demanded, don’t answer back and don’t be deliberately stupid.

Looking at it that simply though, would have been a mistake; he also had to pay attention to the little things, things that he once wouldn’t have bothered with. After all, while Ethan may not have been a threat to him directly it was still certainly a threat to others, to innocents. 

When it felt that it had to push him it would still hold innocent lives to ransom. If Rupert ever failed one of those hard lessons, then he was in no doubt as to the outcome. The intent of those games may never have been the same twice over, but that didn’t make it any less real. Whilst Ethan would not allow him to come to any personal harm, the same certainly couldn’t be said of others.

Twice, only twice, although that was two times too often as far as he was concerned, he had lost its games. So of course he had no doubts about its ability and willingness to carry out its threats. It wasn’t a callous killer, like a newborn but it was still a killer. Those moments reminded him more strongly than ever that it wasn’t a human watching him from behind those cool brown eyes.

After the first death he had turned his back on it, had tried to take it down the second that he’d been presented with the opportunity, and damn the consequences. If it killed him in the process of defending itself, then it would be committing a kind of suicide, anyway.

He hadn’t been overly surprised, although he had been pissed off at his own inability to wound it in any way, when he had woke from unconsciousness to find himself in a position that he hadn’t been in for a reasonably long time. He had been also been afraid. Whenever the chains came out there was always a kick of fear associated with them After all, the last time that the collar had been put to use, the last time that he had been chained back to the fucking headboard it had been a prelude to punishment. That was something else that he had always hated, the fact that he had no say over any of it.

A dark chuckle swelled and he only just bit it back, settling instead for a bleak smile as he pushed past the memory. That was of course the point of punishment, to make one think twice about inciting the possibility again. That didn’t mean that he had to like the method, though, or the fact that it seemed to enjoy the excuse to use him. Not that it needed an excuse.

Even living with it, and sleeping next to it, there were still times when he would begin to sicken for the need for intimate, contact. He would never initiate such a thing, but he didn’t need to, when it could smell the sickness on him before he knew what was happening himself.

With the second game that he had failed at, he had bitten his lip and ignored its snapped orders and questions, a move which had earned him the privilege of being thrown back into the nearest wall then dropped to the floor by the usual brain-rattling closed fist to his chin. It had been a good five minutes until he had been able to shake off the blow enough to understand what was being said and for his senses to clear enough that he could stand again, by which time Ethan had been growling at him, a sound of simple impatience rather than genuine anger.

He supposed that the effect it desired had been achieved for all of that. In the first couple of weeks after loosing he had watched his step around it, and had redoubled his efforts to see that such a thing didn’t happen again.

He knew from cautious investigation that Ethan chose prey for its games very carefully; no family, few friends, and more often then not, no job. Those things just made each death weigh on him that much more, and the blood on his hands, seem like a thicker coat something that much harder to wash off. If he was one of the only people who cared whether these others lived or died, then he had failed them dramatically.

Even if he hadn’t known from that conversation back in the bar that it had taken other humans under wing, then he would still have been able to tell by the way it knew how to manipulate him. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know what had happed to its other human toys, whether they had been killed after it tired of them, or turned, or set free or had been destroyed by something else as a taunt.

The smell down the alleyway felt like it was beginning to seep into his pores. Memories and thoughts were good up to a point, but there became a point where they couldn’t drown everything else out. 

He could hear the conversation in his head. _Why do you stink of cigarettes, and cheap beer? Oh I spent the day down this alley, waiting for…_

At a flash of movement at the far end he stepped forward, to see if this was what he had been waiting for. One thing was for certain, if he were going to challenge Ethan for his own life, then he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Allies were his first port of call, no matter what solution he might eventually find.

Anyone from the Council wasn’t an option, he had been told that much by Tristan the last time that he had been over there. They had more or less been ordered to stand down. His father wasn’t an option either. It wasn’t that he doubted he would help, but he knew that seeing the fucked up mess that his life had become had to hurt. He knew his father blamed himself, although in those rare times that they had talked, he had never said as much out loud and, knowing his father he probably never would.

“Giles; Rupert Giles?” a voice that was laced with curiosity and disdain called out to him.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He fingered the handle of his knife as he stepped into the light to meet with the person who, with a little luck, would be the start of steering his life back into a direction of reasonable sanity.

**Sunnydale 1998**

He had given Buffy a specific time and place, but had he really expected her to be here at that time? Gritting his teeth, Rupert exhaled slowly and rolled his eyes. Where was the girl?

Again, he rolled his eyes. As if he couldn’t bloody guess. Where did she spend most nights these days? He was going to have to have a serious talk to her about that, if this power that Ethan had felt growing didn’t snap her out of it. Well actually, he was still going to have a talk to her about it even if it did.

That was, if she didn’t miss it entirely, because she was too wrapped up in her vampire amour. 

Closing his eyes he let his head thud back against the cool, crumbling brickwork of the crypt. 

A half-full moon broke through the heavy cloud cover and shone through the metal fencing, casting twisted shadows over walls and painting strange patterns over the tombstones. The black silhouettes of headstones were scattered around, each one looking like it was hiding some predator crouched, waiting in the darkness.

He could hear footsteps,, two sets of feet moving confidently over the rocky ground and short grass outside the crypt. Weaving a camouflage of magic quickly around himself, he pressed as far back into the corner as he could. It wouldn’t cover his scent and it wouldn’t stop anything from seeing him if he gave himself away, but with a bit of luck the tine that he’d spent with Ethan would help a little to cover the fact that he was human.

“You sure you saw something come in here?” Xander’s voice said, far too loudly for stealth. He was shushed sharply be Willow, who was, herself, far too loud, although a great deal quieter than Xander.

Without a word and with a touch of mischief he let the spell drop when both the teenagers were looking right at him. Willow froze, and Xander started back so sharply that he swung an elbow back into the wall beside him and yelped. The moment held until Rupert began to chuckle and found himself on the receiving end of a reproachful glare.

“That was so not funny,” Xander grumbled.

“It was from where I was standing,” he raised a hand and ran it through his hair, as he wrestled with his smirk and finally got it back under control.

“Not that I’m not really, really glad it’s you, but, um, what are you doing here tonight?” Willow seemed quicker to forgive him, although relief probably played a large part in that.

“I’m staking things out. Something’s coming and I’m trying to get a handle on what it’s going to be.”

“Here? How do you do that from here?” Xander asked, as he rubbed at his elbow.

“It’s amazing the amount to vital spell ingredients that can be stolen from places like this. Bone, sacred earth, teeth, maybe wood from a coffin, that sort of thing.”

“Teeth. Can I just say eww?” Xander pulled a face.

Willow looked like she wholeheartedly agreed, as she winced and shook her head, moonlight making the deep red colour of it seem almost black, “I…I guess it’s better than getting them from a living source, though.”

“Okay, that’s another one of those things I could have gladly gone the rest of my life without picturing,” Xander muttered, as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the crypt, “And you still haven’t answered the question of why here specifically.”

“Here, specifically, because over the last two nights three cemeteries lying in a straight line have been hit and graves in them raided. The next one is this, so it makes sense to follow the pattern. The papers haven’t said exactly what’s been taken, so I want to try and see so that I have some idea of what it is.”

“That makes sense.” Willow nodded, and took a couple of steps towards the wall so that she could sit, cross-legged on the ground, leaning back against it. “So where’s Buffy? Is she coming by later, or...?”

“As if you can’t guess where Buffy is,” Xander cut her off, echoing the same sentiment as Rupert had thought earlier.

“Yes, well, that’s neither here nor there,” Rupert found himself speaking sharply, a little more annoyed than he’d realised. “And if, as your repose indicates, the two of you are planning on staying here a while, that I must ask that you keep as quiet as possible.”

“Relax, Giles.” Xander sounded annoyingly blasé about it all. “We’ll see anything coming from miles away.”

“Yes, and anything with a working pair of ears out there will hear you from a mile away, too. Do you have no idea how sensitive a vampire’s hearing is? You’ve seen them pick up and hone in on the smallest sound.”

“Gee, Giles, sorry, didn’t realise you had a sti…”

“I am trying to tell you what you need to know to stay alive,” he cut Xander off in an angry hiss, and only just stopped himself from delivering his next thought, too, which was _although maybe I’m wasting my time._

There would have been few suitable apologies if he’d said that one. He was used to a barrage of insults thanks to the way that Ethan had trained him, but these children were not him, nor was he Ethan.

“We’ll be quiet,” Willow spoke before Xander could snap a reply and stir the pot again.

Minutes dragged past. Before, he had appreciated the silence and the fact that it had given him space to think, but it now felt oppressive, as though it was a weight that was slowly pressing down on the crypt, crushing it with him inside. He was painfully aware of Buffy’s absence, highlighted by the fact that her friends were here.

He had decided to ignore it, but now he couldn’t. She should be here, at his side, not out there doing whatever the hell she felt like doing. She was his Slayer, damn it. This was her duty and responsibility and it was her place to obey him.

Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice anything until Xander shifted restlessly. Twisting to look at him, Rupert opened his mouth to tell the boy that he was free to go whenever he felt like it but then he saw that Xander was hovering near the door of the crypt, squinting out through the gap in the door, at the shadows around one of the headstones. Still without a word Xander raised a hand and pointed.

Rupert crept up to the door of the crypt and stood to look over the boy’s shoulder, before nudging him to the side. As far as he could see, it was a pair of figures standing near one of the stones. Keeping his voice as low as possible he intoned a spell which would sharpen his eyesight.

All of a sudden he didn’t have to squint, and the minimal moonlight was enough to him to make out gestures, and a smaller form crouched on all fours with a tail twitching from side to side. The taller figure pointed to a couple of the different headstones and the beast crossed the ground in a lopping stride, to pause beside the first one. With a nod from the first black shape it began to dig up the earth with a speed that he hadn’t expected, and seconds later it was out of sight.

The pair of men, or more likely vampires, headed in the direction of the grave that was being disturbed, and with a glance towards the pair of teens he whispered, “Stay here.”

He placed a hand on the door and drew his camouflage spell back around himself, then eased the crypt door open a little more and slipped out of it. With the magnification that he’d cast he wouldn’t need to get too close, just close enough to see what they were after.

The slight luminous reflection to their eyes confirmed his suspicion of vampires. Not enough of a reflection to notice it if you weren’t looking for it, just enough of one to be there. Moving quietly, letting each foot glide over the ground and making sure it was clear before bringing it down, he crept closer to them, and paused in the shadow of a tree.

As he watched, the creature came backwards out of the hole and he was close enough to see the patterning on the fur, overly long claws on the end a pair of massive paws, long, powerful front legs and the head which was roughly human-sized, the top of the snout elongated and the lower jaw only about half the size of that. The fur was coarse and wiry, sticking straight out. 

He had more than enough to identify this thing. It was a hybrid, probably first generation by the look of it, with how strongly the contrasting features came through. One parent would have been a hellhound-wolf cross and the other a werewolf. Without any human DNA to mask it, the werewolf’s lupine features had just as much prominence as its other parent’s.

Someone a long time ago had made a joke of it, calling the cross a Wolfhound and the name had stuck. They were extremely strong, could smell almost anything that wasn’t downwind, intelligent enough to comprehend a complex order or decide what was best and they were also extremely loyal. Unlike most other hybrids they were also completely fertile, with the twist of features smoothing out over successive generations. A few litters down the line and the creature in front of him would be beautiful.

What it was dragging out of the ground, however would not. It was a body that was only just held together by the tiniest remnant of membrane, muscle and tendon. He was honestly glad that he wasn’t any closer; as he saw what he fervently hoped was a lump of dirt drop off, but he didn’t think that lumps of dirt should appear to squirm quite like that. Holding his breath, he watched as the taller of the two vampires reached into the clearly non-human skeleton and break free a piece that had been attached to both the spine and ribcage. 

It was vaguely rounded and he didn’t need to be any closer to see it. The distant glimpse brought to mind an old sketch of demonic anatomy. That was the case that a Pechora demon’s heart rested in. He could only think of one three spells that used such a thing in them. Transformation of the human condition, but that required eating the heart inside the case and he didn’t think that they kept that well, the elimination of all of ones descendants, or the raising of the undead.

That, of course was circumstantial magic, but the circumstances had been fulfilled, hadn’t they? Ethan hadn’t shattered the bones of Nest and Buffy hadn’t known to. Rupert would have if he’d been thinking of it but the possibility of someone or something trying to raise Nest had been ignored in favour of the realisation that neither he nor Buffy were dead.

“Fool,” he berated himself, softly.

In a moment of pure pig-headed stupidity he calculated the possibility of challenging both vampires and the Wolfhound, shattering the bone casing and getting out in one piece. On top of that there would have to be no other vampires in on the plan, or any more Pechora buried in Sunnydale. Honestly, considering the fact that they travelled in packs – families of at least twenty that was truly a slim possibility.

He saw the Wolfhound stiffen, ears going up and muscles tensing under its bristly pelt and reminded himself that just like a werewolf they were immune to magic.

Shaking his head in self-disgust he slowly backed away until he was pressed up against the tree, hoping that it hadn’t scented him. An old-looking man, probably a caretaker turned a flashlight on and towards the grave that had been desecrated. The two vampires morphed in the exact same instant that the Wolfhound exploded from dead stillness to its running stride and in a couple of paces it lunged. 

Its leap carried its full weight into the old man and carried him backwards. Rupert winced as he heard the thud of the man’s head meeting a tombstone and hoped that it had knocked him out as it began to rip at his chest with its oversized claws. Then with a single barked order from its master it tore the old man’s throat out, and ripped a couple of mouthfuls of flesh from his face before, at another command it bounded back over to its masters side and was rewarded with a pat. There was no point in going over to check him. No one could have survived that.

Turning away he made his way back to the crypt as quickly as he dared, and let himself back in. The two teens were watching the door intently and didn’t start this time when he dropped the spell. In silence they watched as the three left the cemetery, casually leaping the wall to do so.

“That thing just killed him. Didn’t it?”

He nodded as he twisted to look as Willow and saw that she was looking a little pale. Even with everything she had already seen in Sunnydale something like this hadn’t lost its power to affect her. He hoped that it never would.

“Yes it did,” in all honesty he couldn’t bring himself to care too much about some faceless stranger, but the fact that it upset Willow was a different matter. 

Amongst other things Ethan had taught him, was the fact that he couldn’t take responsibility over every single death. It hadn’t been a lesson that had come easily, or one that he’d liked in any way, but it was one that had stuck. If he let every death weigh on him then he missed the little details that would make the next one preventable.

“So, what were they after? Do you known what they’re up to?” Xander’s voice was almost gentle and Rupert felt an unexpected flare of gratitude.

“I’m fairly certain that they’re planning on trying to resurrect the Master.”

There was a moment of silence that drew out, stretching between the three of them. He was reluctant to break it.

“What? You mean between the Harvest and your Ethan defeating him we haven’t already reached the quota on his butt-kicking?”

He looked at Xander, turning his words over in his head.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple this time. If the spell succeeds… well, Nest is incredibly powerful, and this time Ethan can’t risk interfering. Even last time it was an extremely risky thing for it to do. This time it’s something that Buffy has to deal with.”

“But… what if she doesn’t?” This time it was Willow who said what he was thinking.

“That isn’t a option. She has no choice but to deal with it, or it’s the end of the world.”

“Again,” Xander groaned.

“Again,” Willow echoed.

“Again,” he confirmed.

**XXX**

_Buffy was walking through the twisted tunnels. She knew exactly where she was going, but it felt like she had been walking for far longer than she should have been. The darkness hemmed her in, a thick, suffocating blackness that hid the ground and walls from her until she stumbled and had to reach out wildly in the blackness, feeling for something to support her._

_She rested for a moment before pushing away from the wall, hands in front of her to make sure that she didn’t walk straight into the wall on the other side. Just because she couldn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there._

_With a couple more steps she was reasonably sure that she was in the centre of the path again. Turning, she began to walk again. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, although she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She felt like she would have to work it out if she wanted to get anywhere._

_She took another few steps forward, and decided to try to whistling, anything to break the awful silence where the only sound she could her were her own footsteps, heartbeat and shakily drawn breaths. That, however made her uneasy, and felt like it was sending out her location to things that could probably actually see through this darkness._

_Damn it, but she ought to be there by now; several times over.._

_As she took another step she realised that the only sounds she could hear were her own feet and her own breathing. There was no-one else in the tunnel with her._

_A blinding flash of light lit the room and it was several seconds before she could see again._

_When she could see, she saw hazy, grey images of herself and the Master facing one another down. She wasn’t close enough to overhear what was being said, but somehow she knew it didn’t matter. What did, however, was the way that he drew her ghost-self to him and fed, leaving the body to drop into a pool of water._

_She didn’t feel any of the panic that she had expected to see on witnessing her own death. Maybe that was because it hadn’t happened but she doubted it. There was something that felt right about the scene, and that feeling only increased when grey Xander and Angel burst in and pulled her body from the water to do CPR. As she watched her grey self draw a gaping breath she felt a new strength flood through her body._

_The church around her began to twist and warp and shift, and the tiny patch of ground that she clung to, spun away into blackness until she was in the old factory._

_There was a skeleton; a familiar-looking skeleton, with ancient-looking bones and wicked-sharp fangs. A pile of unfamiliar objects were around it, and then she could see two things at once. People, that same hazy grey colour as before, hanging above the bones by their ankles. And then herself, in the right colour, fighting near the bones and being wounded, claws cutting deep into her arm. The vampire she was fighting managed to twist her around and raise her arm so that she bleed over the bones before she got her other hand around to stake it._

_The second she got the stake into it she heard the sound of struggling over the far side of the room and a pair of vampires, flanked by some out of proportion-looking creature that walked on all fours came in. The vampires carried Giles who was spitting like a wildcat. She threw herself towards them and the creature leapt to intercept her. As it brought her to the ground and buried its teeth into her shoulders the pair of vampires lifted Giles above the Master’s bones and one of them angled a knife towards his throat._

_“You face it alone, or you lure them to their graves,” a disembodied, familiar voice that she couldn’t quite place whispered to her. But she was damned if she was going to face this._

_She began to run, desperate to reach the vampires before that blade tasted flesh and blood, reaching out with both arms as though that would in some way help her_ …

The sound of a body striking a wall woke her, and she sat up looking around. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, but it came back the instant she saw Angel gingerly picking himself up with a wince, from where she had had thrown him. She had come over here after school, and had eventually fallen asleep on his bed, curled around him.

“Oh, Angel; I am so, so sorry about that.”

He felt his ribs before he drew a breath and gave her a sheepish smile.

“My fault, Buffy; I should know better than to try and wake a sleeping Slayer.” With a wince he sat down at the foot of the bed.

“Still, I really am sorry.”

“Forget it. So, care to tell?”

She frowned to herself, thinking.

“I think I saw what was meant to be, as well as what actually happened. I saw myself facing the Master alone, and being killed for it. But I still survived it. Then there was this thing with his bones over in the old factory and… Oh, God, Giles. I was meant to meet him in the cemetery tonight and I completely forgot, and there was this thing with his throat being slit, and…”

“Buffy, you need to breath.” 

His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and she found the weight and coolness soothing and anchoring. She could think again. More importantly, for the first time in a long time her concern wasn’t only for herself.

Right, take care of first things first. She drew in a deep breath, held it for a few moments and then let it slowly out. It had just been a dream, it hadn’t happened. Not yet, at any rate. She had time, time to warn him, time to prepare. That was, if it was a portent.

 

But dear God, if it wasn’t, then it was all her fault for not being there, where she had said she was going to be. She knew how easily a reconnaissance mission could turn into a fight for life.

“What’s the time?”

“It’s a couple of hours before dawn. I was going to wake you, but you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Buffy bolted up in the bed and threw the covers off, swinging her legs out and standing. She grabbed her jersey and Angel grabbed her arm, forcing her to turn and face him.

“Buffy, think about it. What are you going to do?”

She shook his hand off her arm. The last thing she wanted at the moment was him trying to placate her.

“I’ve got to go, and make sure it was a dream,” she grabbed a stake, and had the door open before he grabbed her again, “I can’t afford you slowing me down like this, Angel.”

He grasped both of her shoulders, and held her still, “Listen to me, before you go rushing out. There’s a phone just outside in the hall. It isn’t going to take much time to ring and see if he’s home. If he’s not, then you can let his partner know as well. That has to be better than facing whatever you dreamed about alone.”

Sure, the phone. How could she have missed something so obvious? She shoved the stake into her pocket and grabbed the phone up, ringing the number that Giles had given her as a home number, and listened to it ringing at the other end of the line with her heart in her throat. There was no answer, but at least she was thinking now.

Next she dialled the school and the extension for the library and again, there was no answer.

Angel came out of the room and watched her as she shook her head, then tried one last number. Xander didn’t have his own phone-line, but Willow did. She was the last person that Buffy could think of.

This time, after ringing a half-dozen times she heard the click of the receiver being picked up and a sleepy voice answered, “Willow here, who’s this?”

“I’m sorry about the hour, but do you know if Giles made it home safely tonight?”

“He’s fine,” Willow’s voice became cold, and she hung up without another word.

Buffy slowly lowered the receiver back into the cradle, then she turned to face Angel.

“Well?” he asked.

“Willow said he’s fine. But…but… oh, I don’t know. Even knowing that, I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep tonight. I’m going to head out and make a pass over a couple of cemeteries on the way home.”

“Did you want company?”

She did, but she didn’t. Later today she was going to face the world again. For the last few hours of darkness she was going to face herself, instead.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

He nodded like he understood with nothing further having to be said, and she grabbed her bag out of his bedroom and headed out into the dark morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Wordcount: 5,604

** Chapter 3 – Feelings (Intimations)  **

“How do you feel? That is the question  
But I forget you don’t expect an easy answer.”  
\- Stone Sour – Through The Glass

**England 1980**

Rupert took a couple of steps forward and then paused blinking rapidly until he had adjusted to the fact that he was staring towards the sinking sun, which threw harsh oranges and yellows and a blinding white towards him. It gave the rough-worn stone and dankness of the city an uncharacteristic and most definitely unjustified beauty, painting everything in such rich colours..

The person who had approached him finally decided to have some sympathy towards him, and stepped back towards the shadows.

As the blinding light finally faded he could make out who he was talking to.

“Most call me Ripper, though,” he stated as a matter of fact.

“Fine then, Ripper it is,” she shrugged as though whatever he was called was of little to no consequence to her which was probably true.

She was a reasonably tall young woman, didn’t look much older than sixteen, although her light blue eyes spoke of an age well beyond her years. 

Light brown hair stuck straight up from the top of her head, cut down to a number two, which he supposed was more for convenience than anything to do with fashion. She looked nothing if not practical, dressed in a dark, loose-fitting tee-shirt, army-style pants and a pair of heavy, lace-up steel-capped boots that looked as though they could do some serious damage if she set her mind to it. Thin lips were centred in a thin face, and the rest of her features were sharp, with something almost aristocratic about them. She carried a black leather jacket under one arm, and he could see that she was carrying something in buried in the folds of it.

“And who the hell might you be, princess?”

She stepped away from the wall and took a couple of steps in his direction, and he noticed the way that she carried herself, an easy sway to her limbs which told him she was ready to lunge or defend herself at a moments notice.

“Know what, _Ripper_?” she growled at him, curling her lip around the word and making it sound like an insult, “I’m really not sure I like your attitude. Never did like men who think that they’re better than I am just because they carry a little muscle, and from amongst a bad crowd you seem to be one of the worst. I’ve known you less than five minutes and already you already strike me as a wanker.”

He felt his grin become more genuine. This girl had fire, and fire was something that he knew he would need.

“Pity you feel that way, _princess_ ,” he gave the word the same emphasis that she had his nickname, “especially since I already love yours.”

For the briefest of moments she looked startled and he wondered what sort of a reaction it had been that she’d been expecting. Then she laughed, like she’d been shocked into it.

Her expression became a little less frigid, and he could see a decision stirring in the depths of her eyes.

“I’m Paige,” she tilted her head slightly to one side and met his gaze, as though daring him to challenge her very name, then after a heartbeat of tense silence during which she must have decided he passed some form of muster, rounded off, “Deidre Paige.” 

She gave up her name as though she were giving him a state secret, extended a hand and he took it. The second he grasped her hand he felt her fingers tightening around his until it was just shy of painful.

“I can also promise you that if you ever conceive to call me princess ever again I will cave your bloody skull in so far that you’ll have to grow eyes in the back of your head just to see what you’re holding in your hands.”

He laughed.

There weren’t many people who would have swung such a threat at him, even jokingly and there were even fewer who would have had the ability to carry it out if they desired, but he had a feeling Paige would be one of the few to try.

With his usual mocking devil-may-care grin tempered a little he pulled his hand free without pulling a face as she dug her nails into the back of his hand as he did and frowned to himself trying to place why that name sounded familiar. As the pieces clicked into place after a ridiculously long amount of time he felt his mocking, self-assured grin turn into something much darker and more serious although no less jovial for all of that.

“Paige, huh?” he let out a low whistle, “well, well, well. Mikey did something right for a change. Tell me, was your great, great etcetera a woman, a Potential named Demelsa?”

“Nah, I’ve a better idea. How about you tell me how the hell you know what a Potential is? What are you? Because if he’s sent me down some dark alleyway at sunset to meet a fucking demon, then after I’ve killed you I’m afraid I’ll have to kill your pet, too.”

“Watcher-born,” he offered by way of an explanation, and apparently he managed to look appropriately apologetic about it.

“Sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged, watching as the setting sun slowly sent her shadow stretching up the wall behind her, “Not as sorry as I am to be saying it. So, I assume your family don’t keep the legend of Demelsa around for the sake of it.”

“You’d be about right there, Ripper, and surely, being Watcher-born you’d know that being a Potential can run in too, like the disease that it is.”

”Now that’s something to be sorry about.”

“You live, you dump your Watcher, you move on,” she said it like it was of no real consequence to her, “you know how it is. Not like there aren’t hundreds of us in the world as it is. Only one gets to be the Slayer, has the honour of an early death, and I doubt it’ll be me. What do the rest of us get, Ripper? A shove off, and told to live out our lives after being introduced to the world that lives beneath us. Could you sleep easily after knowing exactly what’s out there?”

He found himself laughing again, “Could have always put that knowledge into practise and become a Watcher yourself.”

She simply looked at him and didn’t deign to answer. He supposed that was probably all the response that it deserved, too. In all honesty he couldn’t really picture a Watcher-raised Potential with Deidre’s attitude ever feeling comfortable in teaching a Potential herself. It did happen and rather often, for that matter but that was usually with the more studious types.

“So do you have any idea why he thought that we should meet up, other than amusement?”

She finally turned away from him and started walking, and he ran a few steps to catch her before he fell into step beside her.

“I might have one or two ideas. So, how long have you been living wild anyway?”

“Just shy of a year,” she casually scratched at an arm and pointedly didn’t look at him.

He was impressed. It was extremely rare for a Watcher-trained Potential who was still of age to leave, or go wild as the more common term was, and live for any longer than a month or two at the most. Usually when it happened, then every deadly thing within reach heard of it and the only sure thing to bet on was whether the body would be identifiable. It was rumoured that the only thing sweeter than a Potential’s blood was that of the Slayer herself. For her to have survived for as long as she had, it showed an incredible resourcefulness, which was another thing that could be useful to him.

“You know not all demons are bastards,” he took a couple of quick steps because she was ahead of him again.

She turned her head, “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“I said not all demons are bastards.”

“Yes, I do know that,” she sounded like she was talking to a stupid child, “but the ones that arrange for you to be lured down a dark alleyway usually aren’t after a quick snog and a declaration of close friendship.”

Memories of Ethan and dark alleyways ran together and for he smirked before catching himself. What better example did he need of the fact that he had to get away from Ethan while he still could? If he still could.

She sped up a little more and then settled into what looked like her natural gait, “So, what were these ideas of yours, Ripper? Come on, spill.”

“If you can help me out with something then I might be able to get you to Rayne.”

She froze in mid-step in a way that looked almost comical then spun towards him. The lingering pink clouds painted her eyes a deep red colour.

“You know where to find Rayne?”

“I said maybe. What’s more is if you help me with mine, then I’ll help you take it out when the time comes. If you want a hand.”

She looked at him, and he felt a little unnerved. She was unflinching, unwavering, much how he imagined the true Slayer would be. Usually most people wouldn’t even meet his eye, but here she was meeting it and challenging him.

“You really hate vampires, huh? Your expression has just turned to ice.”

Rupert cleared his throat, “I suppose I do.”

He told himself that he was telling the truth, that he had to believe everything that he was saying. He wasn’t going to become another one of Ethan’s countless victims.

**Sunnydale 1998**

 

Rupert had gone to the library after leaving the cemetery in order to start investigating the spell that he suspected the ingredients were being gathered for. Buffy might have to face it alone, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t tell her what to look out for. If she listened to him, that was.

Willow and Xander had insisted on coming and had stayed until he had insisted that they finally go home to get some rest, because there was still a full day of school ahead of them later.

His eyelids were heavy as he walked up the path to the house and began to try and work the key into the lock. Eventually he managed, and let himself in.

At first he thought the place was empty until he noticed a faint flicker from the doorway that lead into the lounge. Spurned by curiosity he crossed the hall and peered into the room, to see several candles arranged in a circle and Ethan sitting in the middle of them, eyes closed, muttering under its breath.

He ignored the way that the candlelight picked out individual strands of chest hair, threw darkened rings around its nipples and cast flickering shadows over its flaccid cock. It was easier, less confusing to focus on the face instead, watch what the dancing yellow light did to the lines on its forehead and the hollows of its cheeks and as it glistened wetly off its lips, and darkened them. Okay, so maybe not.

He shook his head sharply. He well knew Ethan’s preference for stripping off, eliminating every distraction when it was casting. Yet there were still times, just like this when it caught him off guard.

He knew that moving wouldn’t break its concentration, not when it was as deep in the trance as it was. Still, he didn’t say a word as he took a few steps into the lounge and lowered himself into one of the chairs to wait. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later it fell silent; head cocked slightly to one side as though listening for something, then it opened its eyes and leaned forward to blow out the candle that was directly in front of it. The rest of the candles were blown out in turn.

Enough light was still cast into the room by the half-full moon that he could see it shifting positions, and rose smoothly from the floor stretching in a languid, easy movement, both arms above its head and back arching. It growled softly, as it rolled its shoulders. 

“You can turn the light on if you want,” it said without turning to him.

“I’d rather not, thanks,” he answered, keeping his voice steady, “so, what were you casting? It…ah…it looked like you were fairly well under.”

He saw the moonlight glint off of teeth as it smiled at him, “I was whispering a dream in a little birdie’s ear. I couldn’t do it before now, because the timing wasn’t right.”

_Buffy?_

“You…you sent Buffy a dream. Why?” You said yourself that interference wasn’t advisable.”

“It’s not. I was showing her the way things would have happened without your interference, and reminding her of what was important.”

He was surprised at the calmness in Ethan’s tone. Whenever it had spoken before of the fight with Nest it had always been with traces of resentment and rage in its tone. Anger at Rupert’s disobedience, anger at the fact that it was forced to step in to save its own hide, but now there was none of that  
“How do you know what should have happened?”

“Because I tripped the part of her brain which reacts to portents and hung around to watch the show.”

So Ethan hadn’t been dictating her dream, but walking in it. No wonder it had been in such a deep trance.

It took a step towards him, and he watched as it lowered its head towards his shoulder, nostrils flaring as it sniffed at him, “You’ve been spending more time with the sub and the witch. You still haven’t worked it out. Or have you?”

“Haven’t worked what out?”

“If you knew you wouldn’t have to ask, and I’m not going to spell everything out for you.” 

“You could give me some bloody clue.”

“You want me to give it away? Why would I want to do that? Besides unless something drastic happens…” it trailed off, shrugged, and raised an eyebrow, “it will be interesting.”

While its words were soft and easy the hand that it had grasped his shoulder with was possessive and controlling. But that was the story of his relationship with Ethan. Something shrouded in violence.

“What will be, Ethan?” Rupert was on his feet without even remembering having stood up, tiredness and anger becoming rage, “I’m sick of your fucking hints. I’m meant to have noticed something what the hell is it?”

Ethan’s grasp tightened, fingers digging painfully into his upper arm; hard enough that he knew there would be bruises tomorrow. With a growl its other hand raised and its fingers tangled through his hair, tugging sharply as it drew him flush against its cool body. Forced to meet its gaze he could see the anger there.

“Quiet, Rupert.”

Its voice was low and deadly, a tone that was far more familiar. 

It shivered, and slipped into the half-morph that preferred, teeth lengthening and eyes turning amber as it tugged up sharply, forcing his head to one side before sinking its teeth deep into the side of his throat, well above the jugular. It growled, low in its throat and for a few worrying moments Rupert had the idea that it wanted to shake him back and forth, like a dog might do to a rabbit.

Freezing, knowing that he didn’t want to push his luck any further, he closed his eyes and forced his body to relax in its grasp. The second time it growled, it pushed its teeth deeper into his flesh, until he could feel each individual tooth against his skin, but the growl didn’t have the same note of threat.

He forced himself not to react or tense, and a couple of minutes later he felt a flash of pain as it pulled back. The bite was deep, but no threat to his health, and would probably become another scar. As the teeth slipped out the hands that were holding him relaxed too, and it released him.

Well, the one good thing about having his heart jump into his throat was that he’d forgotten how tired he had been.

“Good boy,” it whispered, voice soft as it stepped back a little. He could feel its amber gaze tracing over his body. 

The relaxation fled as his heart sped up, and it smiled at him, its intent obvious in its expression. To be _wanted_ on that sort of level, well, there was something in it. He thought he even understood something of what Buffy found in being with Angelus. It didn’t lessen his hatred, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t understand a little of why she wanted it.

Ethan stepped forward and brought one hand up to his shoulder, tilting its head to draw its tongue through the blood that was trickling down his neck to pool at the hollow of his shoulder. The only sound was its tongue rasping over his flesh as it licked every trace of blood from his skin. By the time that it was done the twin wounds had stopped leaking and Rupert was shivering. 

It would have been almost lulling, if Ethan’s cock wasn’t already hard and digging into his hip. That cool tongue drew over the split flesh and he gasped as a silver of pain shot through him from his neck to his cock. It used the hand on his shoulder to push him around so that he was facing the wall.

Closing his eyes he leaned back against it and its free hand slipped around his side and moved down his chest. It unbuttoned his jeans, and the sound of the zip was shockingly loud in the silence of the early morning.

Cool fingers brushed over his skin, nails etching little trails of chill as it guided his jeans off his hips and let them fall, then did the same with his boxers. It pushed against his shoulders, leaning him forward against the wall and then it pressed against him, its knees pushing his forward. Its cool hands left his shoulders and grasped at his hips.

Keeping his eyes closed he turned his head so that his cheek came to rest flush against the wall, as he felt its cool cock resting against his arse. Nudging him slightly to change his position, it resettled itself and then leaned against him more heavily.

Rupert’s breathing sped a little as it pushed the tip of its cock inside him. With no preparation there was a little pain, but that was something he was well used to. It paused, lips seeking the bite that it had just given him and its tongue ran over one of the tooth marks, opening it again.

It lowered its hand to his cock and the thumb ghosted along the length of it and over the head. 

He felt helpless, powerless, as it began to push deeper moving its hips back and forth setting a rhythm that sent sparks of pain and ecstasy through him until it was as deep as it could go. It was almost pulling out of him before pushing back in, and stroking his cock to the same beat. His knees were going weak, and he’d sure as hell experienced worse throughout his life.

Then it changed its angle, and sucked a little harder at his throat. He gasped as its cock rubbed along the length of his prostate and his knees went weak. He felt its chuckle against him more than he heard it. It increased its pace, which already felt relentless, every thrust on target. 

Rupert’s breathing grew rougher, harsher, more ragged. Between its cock pounding into him, and its hand moving over his cock he was shivering, right on the edge a fresh revelation. Or maybe just coming.

“Shh, shh, shh,” it made the sound under its breath, and his cock jerked in its hand as he came hard, the contrast between his warmth and its chill more obvious than ever.

With a drawn-out groan he felt every muscle give way, and it was only Ethan’s strength holding him up, as it thrust into him a few more times while every muscle was tensed from his orgasm before stiffening and shooting its cool seed into him with a slight gasp. Rupert moaned as he felt it flooding him, and shivered as it pulled out, hands moving from his hips to his shoulders, keeping him upright.

That slight sting inside him was soothed by the chill, which was distracting enough until he felt its mouth moving against his neck and a sudden sharp sting which told him that it had bitten its own tongue and washed its own blood into the wound. 

Then it pressed a gentle kiss to the other side of his neck.

“Go and get some rest. I’ll wake you in a few hours when it’s time for you to get up.”

“Sure,” he muttered, feeling dazed. He almost fell back as it let go of him. He stepped out of his jeans and boxers and headed upstairs towards the main bedroom, stripping off his shirt and singlet as he went, then collapsing on the bed in a tired heap.

**XXX**

Buffy was outside the school a full hour before it opened, feeling more apprehensive than she had in a long time. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, far fewer than she had though there would be.

Dew glittered along the threads of a single spider web that was strung between tree branches and the steam rising from the ground made the morning sticky and gave it a ethereal feeling that she didn’t think it deserved. Not with how badly things might go today. She knew that she’d fucked up, no doubts there. She had dumped her responsibilities onto other people, and done everything within her power to avoid human contact. She just hoped that what she’d done wasn’t so bad that it couldn’t be fixed with a little effort. She also knew that she had been alienating her friends. She told herself that she wouldn’t blame them if they had decided that it wasn’t worth the effort, when they had kept trying to get through to her earlier and she’d just kept on pushing them away.

She wasn’t sure of her welcome, or even if she still had one.

The roar of a familiar engine cut through the birdsong and she found herself tensing as she turned her head to watch as bike and rider turned the corner and slowed as he approached the driveway to the school car park. The sun reflected off the black paintwork and Giles’s helmet, painfully bright, as he turned the corner and brought the bike to a stop, planting a foot on the ground.

She crossed her arms over her chest and watched as he kicked down the stand and swung off the bike, lifting his helmet off his head and tucking it under one arm. Then he tugged the key from the ignition, and turned, spotting her. He raised an eyebrow in that familiar _look what we have here_ way.

“The cat drag you in, did it?” he asked, casually with none of the coldness that she’d expected. Of course whether that was because he wasn’t actually feeling cold towards her, or whether he had no choice in interacting with her, she had no idea. But she was probably about to find out.

“Yeah, something like that,” she looked at the ground behind him, wondering how exactly she was meant to do this, “look, I’m…”

“Do us both a favour and wait until we’re inside.”

Again, his voice was completely emotionless, if coolness wasn’t counted as an emotion. Not cold, just indifferent. She wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

“Sure,” she looked past his shoulder and matched his stride as he mounted the steps to the door and used his key to unlock the door, holding it open for her to go through before he shut it and flicked the lock behind him. 

She hung back, letting him lead the way to the library. Inside she stopped, reluctant to go any further than his desk as he circled to the other side of it, unbuckling and unzipping his leather jacket as he entered his office. 

Ten minutes later he stuck his head back out, “So were you coming through?”

Feeling younger than she had in years she almost crept around and through the door, just in time to see him tugging off his second boot and the leather pants that he was wearing over jeans and stepping into a normal pair of shoes, before he turned and tucked the bike gear into his cupboard.

For a few seconds after he turned to face her he looked like nothing more than a regular guy.

“So,” he raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the cupboard, arms crossing and that glint of steel in his gaze was a sold reminder, if she’d ever needed one, of who and what he was. Normal guys didn’t need the sort of backbone that he had, to function. He wasn’t a person to be messed with.

“So…” she muttered.

“Echo,” he smirked, and a little of the steel in his expression softened.

“Echo?” she asked, before realising.

He laughed, a sudden bark of a sound that seemed to come from nowhere, and the smirk turned into a genuine smile, “Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong but I think there was something you were planning on saying?”

“Yeah, there was,” she stared just past him, “look, I’m sorry for bailing on you last night.”

“No, _bailing_ is what happens when you take off after actually showing up. What you did… I believe the colloquial term is flaking, no? You haven’t apologised for it before now either. Can you tell me what makes this time so different?”

“I…just…I’m sorry. I… I’ve been caught up in my own thing. You were there for me when I…I needed it, and I haven’t been doing the same for you and the others, and I know I should have been and I....”

He took pity on her, cutting her off with a raised hand. He wasn’t really surprised at how well Ethan could manipulate people, having seen it before, and it didn’t feel wrong to admire it, not when it got results like this. “You’re right, of course. You should have been taking responsibility for what is essentially your duty. I know that you’ve had a lot on your mind, as well, so I’m willing to give you a pass this time. I think I’ve told you before that I can understand what makes a person want to shirk duty and responsibility?”

He left it open as a question, although he could easily recall the conversation that had swung that way.

“Yeah, you did.”

He nodded, “I did. I also recall telling you at a later stage that there comes a time when you have to accept life for what it is, and deal with the current circumstances.”

“You might have,” still, she focused on that tiny piece of dust which was floating just over his shoulder, “so I guess this that, huh?”

He looked at her, waiting until she finally dragged her gaze sideways to meet his. He didn’t flinch, didn’t break away. He could give her that much at least.

“You know that if I could smooth your path, and carry you then I would, but such a thing isn’t practical or possible. You think you’ve messed up, but you didn’t, not really. I did again, but that’s neither here nor there, not any more.”

“ _You_ messed up?”

Gods, but he did not want to have to explain that one; that he was meant to have stood back and watched her face her death alone.

“Like I said, that doesn’t matter any more. The time where that mattered has passed and yes, it is time for you to step up again.”

“I… I meant it when I said I was sorry, you know?”

“I do. As am I. I do understand, truly. Unfortunately, life doesn’t cater to servants of fate. But I am here for you, in any way that I can be.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a half-smile, surprised that half of what she’d been dreading was over and done just like that. Then again, she could understand Giles not holding a grudge, with the hand that he’d been dealt by life.

“Yes, I believe so. Now, I think that I’m not the only one you owe something to?” he looked at her, and she felt her heart drop a little.

She swallowed, “So, you’re like, genius-smart. How do you think this will go?”

“I think you won’t know unless you try. I also think that you were extremely lucky in your choice of friends, and that they are both very forgiving people.”

“Yeah, there is that,” she felt a little of her apprehension settle. Maybe everything would actually turn out alright.

Looking up she glanced at the time. Okay, so she had a half-hour before class, which should be enough time to get things started, at least.

“I’ll see you here after class. There are other things that we need to discuss as well.”

“Sure,” she glanced back at him as she pushed the door open and headed out into the steadily swelling crowd of students who were lingering, or moving through the hallways talking to one another. Some were heading to lockers, and others, the fringe element looked like they had no intention of going to class at all.

Passing the outsides she watched them. What sort of problems they might have, and how serious were they? She wondered how their problems might compare to hers and how many people here had missing family or friends.

So was Xander’s locker or Willow’s the better bet? That was the question. Or if it wasn’t, then the question was whether they would see her waiting there and avoid her, which she wouldn’t actually blame them for. She hadn’t exactly been Miss Approachable lately.

In the end she decided on Xander’s locker, because it was closer to their first class. He had to come by some time.

Swinging her bag off one shoulder so that she could lean comfortably, she looked down the hall towards the entrance, drumming her fingers against one arm. Five minutes dragged past the slowest of Buffy’s life, before she spotted Xander and Willow heading in her direction. The moment that they spotted her was obvious, because Willow’s mouth fell open in what would have been a comical ‘o’ if she weren’t so tense, and Xander glanced back to her immediately. Still, they didn’t divert their course.

“Hey,” she said to them cautiously, as they got within range of hearing.

Willow and Xander shared a glance, before Xander spoke, “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if it isn’t the Buffster herself. We were kinda just talking about you. And by talking of course I mean making plans to get you to include us in you plan for world domination. That is what all the secrecy is about, right? Anyway, to what do we own the honour? Have you decided that I can be your chief advisor of secrecy?”

The words were plain old Xander, but the tone in which they were delivered wasn’t quite what it should have been. So he was angry. Like she’d thought before, she couldn’t exactly blame him. But he was also willing to talk to her which was a bonus.

Willow didn’t say anything. The silence stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable as Buffy thought through the possibilities, even thought there was only one way to go.

“Actually, I’m here to apologise for the way that I’ve been lately; so not really such a secret agenda. I might also be here to grovel, if that’s what it takes.”

“Grovel, huh? I’m not sure you need to go quite that far. You’ve only avoided us and excluded us for the last couple of months. I think grovel territory only comes in at the three month period.” Xander gave her a tight-lipped smile. 

“Okay, maybe not grovel, then. But I really am sorry. I… I’d like to try and make things a little more normal if that’s at all possible. I… I’m just not quite sure where to start.”

“I’ve heard that starting at the start is usually a good idea,” Willow gave her a tentative smile, and Buffy smiled back, trying to keep any tension out of it.

“That makes a lot of sense,” she paused for a few moments wondering whether to follow it up, before deciding that she might as well try to start off on the right foot, “look, I’m meant to be meeting Giles at the library after school today. He said he had something to discuss with me. If the two of you wanted to come along, then I’d like that.”

“We’ll be there,” Willow’s smile became a little more real, as though Buffy was already starting to prove her words.

“Thanks,” Buffy said, in a soft tone and her word was half-obscured by the bell.

Things already felt a little more normal as Xander grumbled something that she didn’t quite catch and opened his locker, diving into it for the books that he needed.


	5. Chapter 4 – Adversity (Getting Over It)

Wordcount: 7,089

** Chapter 4 – Adversity (Getting Over It) **

“I said it, I meant it, I never will forget it  
Change never happens by itself”  
\- The Used – Shine 

**England 1980**

Ethan was annoyed with him. This was hardly a new thing, but that didn’t mean it was one he wanted to encourage.

The fire behind it outlined its figure and threw a flickering shadow over Rupert and the wall behind him. Ethan stepped past the coffee table and grabbed him by the shirt yanking him close. He wasn’t going to give it the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

When it growled and let go, it pulled its hand back, like it was going to strike him, and then he did flinch. At that, it lowered it hand, and turned away, as though his disobedience was barely worth noticing let alone doing anything about.

He wasn’t sure why that pissed him off, but it did.

“You know what time I expected you back here by.”

Sunset had been three hours ago. He couldn’t exactly tell it the truth, either. 

_Late? Sorry, I didn’t realise. I was waiting for something that I hope will be able to help me destroy you. After I break this damned bond, of course._

_Why Rupert, I thought that we’d moved past that foolishness._

He had to bite his lip to keep from giggling as he imagined its reply.

“You did,” he shrugged, trying to act casual, even as he swallowed, that touch of fear never truly leaving him. It wasn’t being back late that he was worried about, it was Ethan scenting the Potential on him and asking questions that he couldn’t answer.

Well not couldn’t, so much as he didn’t want to. If he gave himself away then not only was he certain he wouldn’t get out of it unscathed, he was also equally sure that any possible chance of escape would be over before it even began.

“So would you care to tell me why you’re back several hours late? Or is that simply a part of why you haven’t minded me for the past month?”

Rupert bit his tongue.

“I asked you a question, I expect an answer, Rupert. I don’t talk just to hear my own voice talk,” its eyes narrowed, and he found himself tensing..

He hesitated.

Dare he try a touch of honesty and admit that he hadn’t heeded it because of what it had allowed him to do over The Disparity? That the wide glimpse of his future had scared the shit out of him, and reminded him of the reality of what this was this, being a winding path to hell?

No. The idea that it would ever sympathise with a human’s fears, when it wasn’t human was a joke. It might understand, since it wasn’t stupid, but anything beyond that was laughable.

“If I said that there wasn’t a problem?”

“My question still stands. I demand your respect and obedience, and nothing less.”

“I…I… I had to get away for a while, I went out walking and lost track of time, and by the time I realised how late it was the sun was already going down. I didn’t do it on purpose Ethan, I swear.”

“Not good enough.” 

This time the blow actually fell, and was one of those ones that made his brain feel like it had been shaken from one side of his head to the other. It left his senses reeling and his cheek numb. He wished he didn’t know the sharp way that it would throb when the numbness passed, or recognize the flavour of his own blood seeping into his mouth where one of his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek, but lucky him, he knew it all.

“When I give you an order then I expect you to follow it.”

“An order, Ethan?” he made sure that the question was obvious, “Tell me what the hell happened to… what was it…that’s right, binding me as an equal to you?”

“What makes you think I didn’t?” Its tone was still completely calm, like this was nothing more than a civil conversation.

Rupert gritted his teeth.

“Should I start with the way that you treat me, which is no better than the way someone would treat a …a toy; or perhaps a pet? Actually no, most people would treat a pet better than you treat me. Or shall I start somewhere else?”

Its voice may have been calm, but his sure as hell wasn’t. He was pissed off, and had been for weeks, even though this was the first time he had let himself show it.

“I have no need to explain myself to you,”

“Why don’t you just fucking try for once?” he snapped.

“It’s not my place to coddle you. It is my responsibility to teach you what you need to know to survive for both of our sakes. What I do, is to protect you and make sure that what I teach you stays with you. How I chose to do so is not a matter for debate.”

“So, asking for a modicum of respect is too much?” he snapped, enjoying the chance to exercise some of his frustration. He didn’t care about whether he was going to get into trouble for it.

“You will earn respect once you have learned what is necessary for you to know, something that so far, Rupert, you seem to resist.”

“What the hell is that meant to mean?”

“That means,” it growled again, the first notes of true anger in it and stalked toward him as he pulled back, as though trying not to draw too much attention to himself “that as long as you resist me this will be that much harder on you.”

“Harder!?” he yelled, frustration becoming true anger, which stilled him so he stopped backing away, “Look at who I am, for Christ Sake, you bastard. Look at what I am. Thanks to you I don’t belong to either world, and you think that this could ever be easy on me?”

It looked like it was on the verge of morphing, actions dictated by rage. He was expecting it to slam him back against the wall and kick him while he was down, but it didn’t do any of that. Instead to his surprise it took a deep, breath and let it out.

“It was easier on you before, when you weren’t fighting me. If you didn’t,” it circled him, “then I wouldn’t have to put you in your place.”

He turned on the spot, moving with it so that he could keep an eye on it, “Oh, so now you’re blaming it all on me?”

Clearly fed up with the conversation, it shook its head and headed over to the door.

“Get your coat if you want to, or not, I don’t care. This is getting us nowhere.”

“My coat?” he asked, perturbed by the rapid shift.

“Yes, we’ve already wasted enough time tonight. You need to put in more work on your magical defences,” its eyes glittered cruelly, “so we’re going to play a little game. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the cost of refusal.”

He swallowed, trying to move the lump that had quickly settled in his throat, “No. No, you don’t.”

“Good,” it opened the door and waited for him to step out in front of it.

He hated its games, which probably had a lot to do with why it wanted to play. Having to match Ethan’s challenge and do one better was hard at the best of times.

After leading the way through the dark streets, to the same old abandoned warehouse it summoned a demon to set him against, a flesh-hungry beast called a Ravven. It was something that was impervious to physical harm, but could be affected by magic. 

It was an ugly brute, short and stocky. Its face looked crumpled-in like a bulldogs and it had the snout of a pig. When it drew back its lips to growl at him he could see double-rows of knife-like teeth that were hooked back like an eels. These were a dark yellow, almost brown and its breath smelt like it lived off carrion.

It hunkered down and leaped at him, hunger glittering in its cold black eyes, and he was forced to raise a hand, which skated over its slime-coated brown skin. As it landed it flicked a pointed, hairy ear back and glared at him with its bottomless stare.

It may have been impervious, but he had still deflected its lunge, which was better than nothing. It managed to twist its body around so that it landed on all fours, but he’d been expecting that. Ravven were quick little buggers.

Tilting its head to one side it laid both of its ears flat back against its head and growled at him, a sound that reminded him of a small, rather annoying dog. It didn’t sound all that savage, but it didn’t have to with the teeth that were in that mouth.

More for the sake of his own satisfaction than anything else, he booted at it, grinning slightly as his foot made contact with its slimy chest. The grin vanished quickly, as it reacted with lightning speed, grabbing his leg with its bowed arms and hanging on as it sunk its teeth into his upper thigh, several dozen white hot needle-points driving into his flesh.

With a grunt, rather than the howl that he wanted to utter, he grabbed it by its bristly ears and twisted then as hard as he could, forcing its head back and away from his leg. With gritted teeth he managed to get the teeth out of him as he dug at its face, driving a thumb towards one of its eyes. Being impervious to harm didn’t mean that it couldn’t feel pain.

Kicking out had been a stupid move and he was sure that Ethan would tell him as much later, but for now a lecture was not the foremost thing on his mind.

Trying to find his centre wasn’t the easiest thing to do as he hung onto it, fighting to keep its head away from him. He now had two sets of six claws digging into the flesh at the back of his leg, too. He could feel his leg weakening where it had bitten him, cold flooding through it from that point.

It yanked back from his grasp, tugging a slick ear free and sunk its yellowed teeth into his hand instead. This time he did howl, and the time to find his centre passed as he reacted out of raw instinct. With a gesture that he made with his free hand, pushing the heel of it out towards the beast and down he yelled the first spell that came into mind.

A thin, high sound emerged from it, and its mouth opened as every muscle contracted. It was screaming, and the sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up It was sound that spoke purely of agony.

It fell to the ground twitching, and as coldness began to spread from the bite on his hand he managed to think of another spell, even though his mind was spinning. It wasn’t one that he’d had any desire to practise, but it was on his lips before he could think about it. A strange twitch passed through the beast before it went still, as its spine was severed inside its body.

He was shivering and his head swum he stared at it, watching at the flaps around its nostrils flared in and out with every breath, as its chest rose and fell. The spell had taken it out of the fight, but it hadn’t killed it.

He knew that he could finish it off somehow, that he should, but he couldn’t work out how. He could form the thoughts but couldn’t follow them through.

The ball of light that he had been shielding shimmered and blinked out.

He heard footsteps behind him, but couldn’t turn around, no matter how hard he tried. He could picture Ethan coming closer, red silk shirt glinting in the tiny light that shone in through the gaps in the walls and roof. It had developed a taste for human luxuries a long time ago. 

He could feel a hand resting against the small of his back through his shirt, which was trailed over him as Ethan circled around to stand in front of him. Then it trailed its fingers down his arm to grasp the hand that had been bitten. The slightest brush sent fire through him.

He couldn’t pull away.

“I don’t have to tell you that going for the physical confrontation was the plan of a fool, do I?”

Its hand wrapped fully around the bitten hand and squeezed hard, sending a shot of pain through him, sharp enough to shock tears to his eyes.

“No, you don’t,” he managed to say through gritted teeth.

Its grasp eased for a brief moment and he took the chance to draw a breath, before its grasp tightened again, “I also assume I don’t have to point out, again mind you, that teeth and claws are best avoided? Especially if you don’t know the extent of what something might or might not be capable of?”

His leg was throbbing dully now and the chill was beginning to fade a little.

Ethan obviously wasn’t worried about the fact that Rupert couldn’t move, which meant that it obviously wasn’t life something that was life-threatening any time in the immediate future.

“No, you don’t.”

After letting go of his hand it trailed its fingers down his body, to press down on the bite that was on his leg. A fresh wave of white pain swept upwards through him and the paralysis broke. He crumpled to the floor. Strangely, being able to move was small compensation, when his leg felt like it was on fire and his hand felt even worse.

Wincing, he pushed himself up to a seated position with his good hand, holding the other close to his chest. He couldn’t stop the fine shiver that ran through him as he glared up at it, hating that calm expression on its face with a sudden vengeance.

“What the hell just happened?” Safer to say that, than what he really wanted to say.

“Its bite carried a mild paralytic. Just enough to hold its prey still while it started to eat, not enough to dull sensation. Your endorphins cleared most of it from you system.”

So, Ethan hadn’t been hurting him just for the sake of it then. That must have only been an added bonus.

“There must have been other ways to do that.”

“Yes, there were,” it said mildly, “but none that would have had quite the same impact.”

Making sure that he only used his good hand for support climbed to his feet, using the structural wood that stuck out from the wall to help him. Ethan’s arm slipped around his back, keeping him upright when he went to put weight on the leg that had been bitten and found that it couldn’t support him.

Pride told him to shove it away and struggle out by himself, but he didn’t fancy landing on his face. 

“Where are we going?”

“Home, so that I can see to those bites.”

Home. That sounded good. For once he didn’t remind himself that he shouldn’t be calling the place home.

At the threshold of the old factory he paused, twisting his head back to look towards the beast’s prone body. “What about that thing?” he nodded back towards it, hating the obvious weakness in his voice.

With a flick of a hand towards it, and a brief incantation in a language that he didn’t yet understand it vanished with a flash of hot air, and wave of the sickly-sweet stench of flash-fried flesh. It had been burned up from the inside out.

The smell made his stomach churn. He leaned into Ethan, and let it help him to the door and down the steps outside, which he wasn’t sure he would have been able to manage on his own. He was momentarily grateful for its strength as he stood leaning against its cool body. He drew in several huge gulps of the fresh air outside.

As his head cleared pride got the better of him.

“I… I feel a little better now.”

It looked down at him for a few seconds before shaking its head in answer, a touch of amusement in its expression. It began to walk slowly, arm tight around him, tucked under his shoulder and behind his back, as it led him back home.

**Sunnydale 1998**

Over the course of the day things slowly became less strained between herself and her friends. Willow and Xander had included her in the notes that they passed, and the hushed conversations in the back of the classroom. Things were far from perfect, but they already felt so much better.

After the last class was Buffy took her time to pack up her gear and used the moment to question her friends, “So, what do you think Giles wanted to talk about? Got any ideas, guys?”

She didn’t miss the glance that Xander and Willow shared between them.

“I think maybe it’s better if you talk about it with Giles,” Willow ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back out of her eyes, “he’s better at the whole explanation thing.”

“So, you do know then?”

Again they glanced at one another, as Buffy finally swung her bag up onto her back.

“Yeah, we know,” Xander pushed his chair back under the desk and they turned to leave the classroom, heading down the hall to the library.

Buffy led the way. Pushing through the door, she swung her bag off her shoulder so she could sit down. Willow and Xander came in a few seconds later and sat down on either side of her.

Things had felt better over the course of the day, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that it would take a lot longer than one day to make things right, but she felt satisfied that she’d made a start. The sound of a voice from the office told her where Rupert was, and she could see through the window that he was on the phone, cord twined around his fingers and a book open on the desk in front of him. His voice was too faint to make the words out, but if the expression on his face was anything to go by then the conversation wasn’t going his way.

He glanced up and on noticing the trio he hung the phone up without taking long enough to say goodbye. He was still frowning to himself, as he came out and placed the book, still open, on the front counter.

“Who was that, then?” Willow asked, looking curious.

“A stubborn bastard. Doesn’t matter, we’ll manage, either way.”

Buffy cleared her throat and looked at him pointedly, “So, what is it exactly that we’ll manage, anyway?”

He cleared his throat, “The resurrection of a vampire.”

Buffy frowned to herself, “Hang on, I know this one. Resurrection means coming back to life, but I’m assuming you’re not referring to the common-place rising of a new vamp, otherwise you’d probably just call it cemetery time and leave it at that, and I doubt you’re talking about a vampire becoming human again, which would probably be one for the history books.”

“I’m not even sure that such a thing is possible,” Rupert frowned for a moment, then shook his head sharply, “no, there are forces in town, probably members of the Order of Aurelius who are planning on trying to raise the Master again.”

He kept a close eye on her face and watched as she went a little pale. He was glad to see that her gaze stayed bright and she was still mentally with him, though.

“But I saw Ethan tear his head off. Surely that’s got to put a dent in their plans.”

“Not at all. There is nothing to stop them from piecing its bones together, and that’s what they need to do. If I’d been thinking on the night then I would have shattered the bones then, but I had other things on my mind.”

“Then where does this leave us?”

Rupert gestured to the book that he’d put onto the front counter, and all three of them crowded around, looking at it. After a couple of minutes Buffy looked up at him again, “So the English version would be?”

“The English version, as you put it, leaves us with the fact that interrupting the ritual before it gets underway is our ideal, although if we only do that there’s nothing to stop them from trying again in another six years time, when the stars are right again. What we really have to do is keep them from getting a hold of the last ingredient, and shatter the bones as well.”

“Can’t ever be straight-forward, can it? You know, like ‘stand here to interrupt the flow of magic.’ So, what’s this final ingredient that they need, anyway?”

“It’s the blood of those mortal creatures nearest to it in the moment of death.”

“Well, that narrows the field down to…” she trailed off as she realised.

“Us,” he finished the sentence for her.

“So, all fun and games, huh?”

Rupert didn’t see the point in answering.

“Can’t your partner order them to cease and desist or something like that? I mean, he did take out the old leader, doesn’t that like, make him a vampire high commander or something?”

“Again, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Ethan can’t interfere, for the risk of throwing the worlds themselves out of balance, and besides which, even if it could, then I’m not sure that it would; Ethan doesn’t usually so something that it can’t see a personal advantage in.”

This time it was Willow who frowned at him, “Then why did he step in before… oh.”

Yes, oh indeed. Willow didn’t know any more than that Ethan was his bound partner, but she was still intelligent enough to work it out.

“Oh? What’s an ‘oh’?” Buffy demanded.

Rupert let out a slow breath, “There was a personal advantage. Ethan wanted to keep me alive.”

Buffy frowned to herself,” I guess I should have worked that one out. But he seems so much more like Angel than like those things out there.”

“Don’t make that mistake, Buffy. It cares and it protects what it considers its own, but that’s as far as things go.”

Frowning, she thought about the night that had been meant to free the Master and leave her dead, trying to remember exactly how things had gone down.

“He said that you were his, and I was yours.”

“Yes. There’s a certain truth to that, too. You are my Slayer after all.”

“But even with that he still won’t do anything?”

“As far as Ethan is concerned he already has done plenty, Buffy, in teaching me to survive, and showing me what I would have to know to pass on to you so that you could do the same.”

“And what, that’s it, game over, he’s out?”

He may not have liked Ethan’s decision, but to his surprise he found he didn’t resent it, “Buffy, please…”

“Look,” Willow interrupted, and they both looked at her like they’d forgotten she was there, “I can see that the two of you are letting off a bit of steam here, but aren’t there more important things to be talking about?”

“Willow’s right,” Xander backed her up, “we should be planning or something, shouldn’t we? If the Master’s bones have to be destroyed, without whoever’s casting it getting what they need then we need a way to get close enough to do it.”

“Yes, Buffy and I do need a plan to get close enough without getting our throats slit.”

“Hold on just one moment there. What’s this ‘Buffy and I’ stuff? We’re meant to be a group. One girl, one Watcher, and one pair of friends.” Xander straightened up sharply and looked at him, and Rupert, never one to back down, crossed his arms and met his gaze.

“Exactly what it sounds like, Xander. The duty is Buffy’s and mine. If the two of you come along then that’s two more people to protect when it comes down to the fight, and a distraction can mean the difference between a life and death, especially if that wolfhound is there.” _Besides I can’t risk exposing you to magic. Not when even a latent spell has the potential to do the damage that it might._

Buffy took a step back from the desk, “Wolfhound?” she asked, “Bristly fur, stands about this tall, serious overbite?”

Rupert looked at her, “Yes; remarkable creatures, extremely intelligent and loyal, and completely impervious to magic. I’ve often considered looking into where to source one from. You’ve seen it around?”

“Not around, as such. Xander and Willow are coming.”

“Buffy…”

“No, Giles. In the dream I had last night it was just the two of us, and that thing tore your throat out. If having them there is enough to upset that prediction, then I’ll take it.”

He had to fight to keep his surprise off his face. Last night Ethan had been walking in Buffy’s dream, and now she was telling him that she had seen his death. 

Damn it, but there were times when he didn’t understand Ethan in the slightest. If Buffy’s dream was truly one of those prophetic ones then why the hell wasn’t the vampire stepping in? Unless it was using this as some sort of a test, whether for his charge or for himself. He didn’t see what it would gain from letting things play out, though. Or maybe that part of the vision was something that it had planted completely, in spite of its insistence that it wasn’t going to interfere.

He was also reluctant to tell Buffy that Ethan had been inside her head last night. He knew how she reacted to things and people pushing into where they weren’t welcome, and he doubted that she would have ever have considered inviting Ethan into her mind.

“Good, so you’re not arguing with me then,” some of the defensiveness left her posture, and he felt himself relax a little in turn.

He shifted his attention from her, to the other two teenagers, “Right, then. I suppose that’s sorted. If the wolfhound is there, then that will be as much a threat as anything else. How many vampires are present will also have an influence on things, although there shouldn’t be too many. They won’t want to risk interrupting the flow of power that needs to be channelled. From what I’ve read today, and what I’ve been told in the past, a Revivification Rite is a tricky enough little bugger as it is.” 

He took a breath, “Buffy,” he looked at her, and found himself wrestling with his desire to tell her what to do and exactly how to do it, “how do you think we should approach this?”

“I reckon that we can put the dog down between us. Then as far as the vampires, and getting to the bones, it’s probably best to play a game of distraction. If we can keep the vampires hopping, maybe even take a few of them out then it’ll be that much easier to get through.”

Rupert cleared his throat, and closed the book on the desk, “The bones will be extremely brittle, which will be another advantage for us. It shouldn’t take more than a few well-placed blows to shatter them. If we can break the skull, and scatter the fragments, then that’s even better. Weapons will give us another advantage. We go in hard and fast, and straight for the target.”

Willow leaned forward and stared at the cover of the book again, before looking up at Rupert, “Look, all this is well and good, but, um, do we have any idea where it’ll take place?”

“Ideally it would take place where the Master was killed, but I doubt they’ll risk taking it underground with the barrier still in place. The next best bet would be somewhere stepped in dark energy such as over the mouth of the Hellmouth itself, but we don’t know exactly where that is, either. So, what we’re looking for is a place that’s open enough for them to work in, but has a violent history, something that would suggest a pertinent dark energy. Willow, can you pull up anything from that on the computer?”

“Or we could, you know, take clues from my dream?” Buffy suggested.

“Go on then, Buf. Did you see a sign anywhere, maybe one that said ‘Disneyland Car Park?” Xander looked over to her.

“Forever hopeful, aren’t you? No, but I did see things in the building that just screamed ‘old factory.”

Xander shot her a quick grin, “Ah, but where would I be without my hope? I just know that one of these days you’re going to have a dream about a demon attacking either there, or the Playboy Mansion. And on that day I’ll be ready with my ‘told you so.’”

“Xander,” Willow reached over and clipped him fondly across the ear.

“What?” he shrugged, “I am a guy, after all. I have needs.”

“Xander,” Willow repeated, pointedly.

“Okay, shutting up now.”

“Right, so that’s a plan and a place. Did we have a time?” Buffy stretched, and shifted her feet.

“The signs will be in alignment tonight, actually, and they’ve got almost everything that they need, already.”

“Tonight, huh. Doesn’t leave much room for error,” Xander said.

“No, it doesn’t, particularly,” Rupert looked down at where his hands rested on the desk.

“What would you have done if Buffy hadn’t snapped back to her senses? No offence, Buffy.” He glanced at her.

Of course Xander had to ask.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rupert made sure that the tone of his voice was sharp enough to let Xander know that part of the conversation was over, “because it didn’t. If we spent our lives questioning what could have been, then we wouldn’t move again after the day we first realised what it was to think and question.”

“You would have tried to track the area down and gone on your own, wouldn’t you?” Willow obviously had it figured out too, and of course she would back Xander up.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “But again, that’s getting off-topic, especially since it didn’t happen. Now, the stars will start to shift into place at around ten, and they’ll have to begin no less than an hour later.”

Buffy stepped back from the desk and headed over the where she knew that Rupert kept the weapons, “So, we’ll have until then to break into where they are on our own terms, rather then get dragged in like parcels.”

“You think we can do it?” Xander shifted, all of a sudden feeling nervous, now that he knew they actually were going in too. He never would have refused, but he was definitely feeling edgy. Willow, however, looked completely comfortable relying on Buffy and Rupert, as though with the two of them there, nothing could go wrong.

Xander would have given his left arm to have Willow look at him like that once upon a time.

Buffy looked sideways at Xander, “I don’t think so. I know so.”

She only wished that she felt half as confident as she knew that she sounded. She knew that if they didn’t manage to stop things, Sunnydale would have an old, powerful vampire running free. One that would have the power to wipe the town off the face of the earth, and possibly the desire to, too.

Inside Rupert’s office, Buffy found the sword that she favoured, several stakes and an iron-headed war hammer. She knew that he kept that wicked-looking flick-knife of his in one of the drawers in the filing cabinet, but she didn’t feel comfortable grabbing that out. Not when it had been his for longer that she had been alive.

She put the stakes down on the table, handed the hammer over to Rupert, who grasped it lightly and kept the sword at her side, then looked at Willow and Xander who were dividing the stakes out evenly.

“So, any requests?”

Xander raised an eyebrow, “You mean we get to choose? Cool, I call the crossbow.”

“I’ll take that Lignum Vitae knife with the wards carved into it.”

Rupert looked at her pointedly.

“With the wards that I know absolutely nothing about,” she hurriedly amended, glancing away. 

Rupert’s expression softened a little, and he gave her a small smile, “Don’t worry about it. In fact, if I’m going to start showing you more than how to levitate a feather, remind me to start with runic magic. It makes for a fairly solid base, and it’s easy enough to build from.

“Cool,” she looked at him again, “but seriously, where did you get something like that? It’s not exactly new, and that’s some serious work gone into it.”

“It was made by my great grandfather, and he passed it to my grandmother when she was given a Potential. In turn she passed it on to my father when he started training to be a Watcher,” here Rupert winced, a touch of fond memory and a touch of pain visible in his expression, “and he gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday. I left it behind when… well, it doesn’t matter when. I got it back, though.”

“I had no idea,” Willow breathed, shaking her head, “if you’d rather I didn’t use it then, you just have to say.”

Rupert swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, “I… I don’t mind. I probably should be using it myself, but I find myself strangely reluctant to… never mind.”

Willow didn’t take her gaze off him, “I do mind though. You’re reluctant to what?”

His expression became almost sheepish.

“I’m reluctant to contaminate something that was designed specifically to use against vampires.”

“You wouldn’t, you know,” Buffy sounded certain in her statement, “with the way that knife feels, it’d take more than a touch and you using it, to screw anything up.”

Rupert laughed and there was a touch of bitterness in the sound, “I do know. It’s simply that knowing it in my head and knowing it in my heart are two very different things.” He cleared his throat, and shook his head slightly, before heading into his office to grab the crossbow, a quiver of bolts and the knife. After a few seconds of thought he also unlocked the drawer of the filing cabinet and grabbed out the flick-knife, which he tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, then pulled his shirt down to cover the handle of it.

He knew that it wouldn’t do much against a vampire unless he used it for decapitation, even with the spells that he’d woven into it over the last few years, but he’d always had it when going into a fight, whether it had been against a few human thugs or against something far more serious.

 _Unique fucking security blanket_ he chuckled softly to himself. Coming back out, he put the two new items down on the counter. “Well, did the three of you want to go home and have dinner before we meet back here, say around nine? That should give us enough time to set things in motion.”

Xander and Willow nodded in agreement. Buffy, however, looked at him.

“Mum’s not back until tomorrow. So, I was kind of wondering if you minded my company until then.”

“Now why on earth would I mind?” Rupert looked at her for half a moment, then away, only a tiny trace of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

“That would be our cue to get going,” Xander interjected quickly, “so we’ll see you about nine. Coming, Willow?” he asked, as he held the door open.

“Yep. See you.”

She waved over her shoulder and ducked under Xander’s arm. He let go of the door, and Buffy watched until she couldn’t see them any more. Then she turned her attention back to Rupert.

“Well, it kind of goes without saying, that I haven’t exactly been the best of company lately, I guess.”

He was silent, as he walked around to the table that she and the others had been sitting at earlier, and pulled out a chair for himself, gesturing for her to sit down as well. She took the seat that was across from him, finding his silence and the way that he kept his cool gaze on her to be a little unnerving.

He waited almost pointedly, as she shifted uncomfortably in the chair and rested one arm flat on the table, then lifted it and put the elbow of her other arm down instead, resting her chin on her fist.

Nervous movements, something he recognized well enough.

“Yes, it does rather go without saying,” he took a slow breath, trying to work out where exactly to go with this, and tried to find some consolation in the fact that Buffy looked like she was trying to work out the same thing.

“How much do they know, exactly?”

It sounded like a non-sequence, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be if he thought about it. Quietly, still focusing on her, he ran today’s conversation back through his mind before he worked it out.

“Nothing essential; not much more than the fact that a vampire is my… my... well, whatever the hell h… it is. My partner. Neither of them are silly people, though, as you well know.”

Buffy shook her head, “No. They’re really not.”

Still he didn’t move, didn’t invite conversation. She knew that it probably wasn’t meant that way, but it felt almost like he was telling her through his silence that she should have pulled her head in sooner. It was a stark contrast to those other times last year when they had kept one another company. Then, they had spoken easily, like they had known one another for a lot longer than the handful of months that it had been.

“I…don’t suppose it would help if I apologised again? I can’t exactly say that I don’t know what I was thinking, because I did know.”

“No, it wouldn’t. You’ve said it, and I’ve accepted it. We prove ourselves best through action. If you’re apologetic, then you don’t do it again. It’s as simple and as complicated at all that. Still, feel free to enlighten me.”

“Huh?”

Rupert stood and pushed his chair in, “You said you know what you were thinking. I have my own understanding of the matter, but that’s not quite the same as straight from the horses’ mouth.”

“Oh,” Buffy didn’t look like she had been expecting to be called on it, “well, um, I… it was because after I found out that I was meant to die, and it didn’t happening I thought it might be better, easier, on everyone else if no-one actually liked me…” she trailed off.

“If no-one actually liked you?” Rupert sounded incredulous, as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Or, not actually didn’t like me, as such, but more along the lines of if people weren’t close to me, because if they weren’t all that close to me… well, I almost died once. It’s bound to happen again, you know. Only next time it wouldn’t be an almost. I mean, I’ve cheated death already, a lot more that once, and probably way more than some Slayers get to. If they weren’t close to me… if you weren’t, then it should have hurt you less.”

“And your Angel, then? What about it?”

“I wouldn’t exactly have been the first person that he saw die, you know? He’d have been able to handle it better than Willow and Xander. Maybe he could have even handled it better than you. I mean, I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’ve already told me how much you hate the thought of my death.”

“Buffy,” sighing, he shook his head, “I’m afraid it’s not your place to choose who likes you. You can’t change people’s minds, and you can’t control them. You made your choice when you first let them into you life, and all you can achieve in trying to shut me out is hurt me before the fact. My life, my destiny is woven into yours like the shadows are akin to the light.”

He shifted, took a fresh breath, “My life is a mixture of things I don’t have a choice about, that I can, that I have to tolerate, and a few that I don’t mind quite as much. You, though, I can honestly say that I care for you with no regrets, no matter what no matter what may or may not happen.”

She stood and pushed her own chair in, before looking at him again, “I guess you think I was being pretty stupid, huh?”

Again he shook his head, “Surprising though it may be to you, I don’t. What you were trying to do makes a lot of sense. It’s just that what you were trying to do wasn’t practical. You could have made Willow and Xander hate you, but even that wouldn’t have stopped them from caring, or worrying on some level.”

For a moment he stared at the table, before he decided what to do. Circling it he stacked the chairs up and pulled it to the side. Then he took a stance, facing her with both hands loosely balled into fists, one shoulder forward and the other back, light on the balls of his feet.

“Let’s spar. Might do us both some good.”

“With you not wearing any pads?” she looked at him, like she expected him to admit that he was joking at any second.

“Buffy, I have spent over half my life getting my arse kicked by Ethan. If you get through my guard then I hardly think that a few more bruises will render me incapable. Just remember that I’m only human.”

“I can do that,” grinning, she squared off against him, then frowned slightly, “hang on, if I get through you guard?”

“You don’t think that I might be able to surprise you?”


	6. Chapter 5 – Confusion (And Building Trust)

** Chapter 5 – Confusion (And Building Trust) **

“You were blessed by a different kind of inner view; it’s all magnified  
The highs would make you fly, and the lows make you want to die.”  
\- Missy Higgins – Nightminds 

**England 1980**

Rupert leaned heavily against Ethan as he stared at the bed, grateful for the vampire’s strength even though he’d tried to shrug its help away. The walk back had felt like it had taken hours, when in reality it couldn’t have been much longer than fifteen minutes.

He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t seem to connect his head with the rest of his body, and his leg was still half-numb and felt like it was on fire inside. His hand wasn’t much better off.

He had never been gladder to sit down than he was right then. Patiently, Ethan helped him turn and lowered him towards the edge of the bed. He pulled a face as his leg bent at the knee, sending a scattershot of fire through the rest of his body, and in the moment of distraction it had pulled his shirt off over his head.

Then it dropped down to one knee and to his amusement pulled his boots and socks off, too. Everything seemed funny when his head felt like this, though. It had a distant, kind of unreal quality to it. Well, he amended as it stood again, everything apart from the pain felt unreal. He wished that were a lot more distant.

Without a word he twisted his head following the action as the shirt was cast to the side, the smear of red blood on it from his slowly leaking hand standing out like an accusation, although of what he didn’t know.

“Let me take a look at that hand now,” Ethan’s voice held that note of soft command which he heard more and more often these days.

Scowling he shoved his hand towards it, biting his lip again, as he felt Ethan’s cool fingers uncurling the clenched fist, and it raised it to eye level. From his position he could see that a couple of the half-moon of tooth-marks went close to the bone, and that the skin on the underside of his hand was split less deeply. He had been lucky it hadn’t done worse damage.

Again, his scowl changed to a wince as he felt Ethan’s cool fingers gently feeling along each of the bones, checking it over properly.

“There’s nothing dislocated or broken,” with a single hand it grabbed his hair, making his eyes water and forcing him to stand again, to take some of the pressure off his scalp, “so stop making such a fuss, and go wash it off. I’m not going to risk tainting myself with any venom that might still be present in the wound. Same as with that leg, go and clean it off then come back so that I can take care of it.”

“Aren’t you just a lovely bastard?” Rupert muttered under his breath, not caring that it would hear him, as he stood slowly, making sure that his leg could take his weight. At the stairs he grabbed the handrail and carefully made his way back down, not wanting to add bones broken by further stupidity to the two injuries that he already had.

In the bathroom he filled the sink with warm water and cursed out loud as he plunged his hand into it.

“Fucking hell. Burns like a fucker,” of course the words did sweet jack, but it did make him feel a little better. If he’d thought that it had hurt when Ethan had squeezed his hand… well, actually it had, but this was decidedly worse.

Within seconds the clear water had turned to a bright, almost red shade of pink which grew darker as he worked the soap which he had rubbed his other hand over into the split skin. He hadn’t thought that it could get much worse, but apparently he had been wrong. With that disconnected feeling creeping back in he flexed the hand, opening and closing it under the water and watched with a distant fascination as a little more blood leaked out in tiny trails which streaked through the water with every flex. 

More blood lost. Not for the first time he wondered how much he would be able to lose and still stay human, since Ethan’s blood was already in his veins. Oh, he wasn’t stupid; he knew that his own blood replenished itself eventually, but there would always be that underlying taint.

Finally he pulled his hand out and grabbed the towel off the rail, taking the edge in his teeth so that he could tear a strip from it. This, he clumsily fastened around his hand with his other hand and teeth, tying it as tightly as he could, before pulling the plug and running a fresh sink full of water.

With his good hand he loosened his belt and then undid his jeans and dropped them, holding onto the sink as he stepped out of them. He couldn’t see the claw-marks around the back of his leg where the little bugger had held on, but they were nothing compared to the bite, anyway.

Grabbing the rest of the towel he bundled it up and dropped about half of it into the water before rubbing it against the soap. He didn’t squeeze any of the water out before he gingerly began to rub at the blood around the bite, reluctant to let the water get into the wound itself. His jeans had actually done a reasonably good job of keeping pressure on the wound until now.

Finally, though there was nothing left but to do it. Biting his lip again he moved the towel over the tooth-marks and tasted the copper-salt tang of his own blood as he bit down harder at the way that the water and soap burned. He wasn’t going to make a sound, not this time damn it.

He pressed hard over the bite, rubbing at it until it began to bleed again so that he knew it had been cleaned properly. It may have hurt but a little pain now was better than something going seriously wrong.

After he was done he pressed down hard over the torn flesh for a few minutes to stem the blood that was leaking out. When he was sure that it was under control again he dumped the towel on the floor by his jeans and pulled the plug again, glancing at the darkening makeshift bandage on his hand as he did.

He kept his teeth buried in his lip as he headed back up the stairs, trying to keep his stiff legged walk from being too obvious. He wasn’t surprised that Ethan had stripped its clothing off while he’d been preoccupied. He shivered slightly as its cool gaze swept over him, and told himself that it was just because he was cold.

“Sit back, and give me the hand.”

He sat down on the bed and moved back until he was sitting up against the headboard. He didn’t look away from it, as it settled itself back on its haunches in front of him and loosened the towel that he’d bound his hand with. Grasping his wrist firmly it tugged his hand towards it and licked tentatively at the bite, letting the taste of the blood settle on its tongue.

“That’s fine,” it said after a moment, then began to lick at it properly, the coolness of its tongue soothing over the ragged flesh, as it cleaned away the fresh blood that had run free.

Only once it was satisfied with its work did it bite at its own wrist and draw a mouthful of blood, before it took his wrist again, and lifted his hand to its mouth to press blood kisses to the damaged flesh. 

A large part of him hated how familiar the sting of its blood before the wounds healed had become but he was still grateful that it cared enough to heal something so minor. Thoughts like that were the reason that the sooner he got away from Ethan the better off he would be.

It let his hand go, and although he could see that it was healed, it still hurt as he moved it and flexed it. The fresh bite looked like an old scar.

Then it pressed its lips to his and its cool tongue parted his lips before it trickled the last few drops of blood between his lips. It was wine-sweet and still slightly salty. He swallowed, and its tongue stroked against his, and in that moment he reminded himself how disgusted by this sort of thing he had once been. Change might be inevitable, but there was no excuse for giving in to this sort of thing.

It drew back and on all fours moved so that it could get to the bite on his leg. He gasped against the coolness of its tongue against the heat of his flesh, as it tested the blood, before cleaning up again, and then once more licked its own blood into the wound.

It raised its head and hands grasped his boxers to tug them down off his legs before it cast them to the side by his shirt. That was something he had been expecting. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the cool tongue which ran up the inside of his thigh after that, though, or for it to pause and press a kiss to the tip of his admittedly hard cock. Its tongue darted out and licked along the underside of his cock as he watched, then its lips sealed around the head of his cock and its tongue played over the slit at the head of it.

Okay, so that was definitely gasp-worthy, too. The fact that it had only done this twice over four years didn’t hurt matters, either. Its cool tongue circled him, and its lips moved down further. At around the halfway point it pressed his cock firmly to the roof of its mouth with its tongue, then pulled off, letting a hint of tooth trail over the delicate skin and sending a jolt through him when it hit the underside of his head.

Then, with a growl it took his entire cock down and swallowed around it. All that he could do was cling to the blanket under him and try not to come right then, as it swallowed again and drew back a little so that it could circle him with its tongue once more. Dark brown eyes that glittered with a hint of amusement flicking upwards to meet his again.

What he really wanted to do was grab at its head and hold onto it, force it down and onto him but he had learned the first time that an action like that, something that could be interpreted as dominant was off-limits. Closing his eyes he forced himself to relax as that cool mouth engulfed him completely again, still working at him. If he had been flat on his back then he would have been arching up towards it, probably still with that same incomprehensible babble leaving his mouth. As it was, when it drew back a little he still found himself trying to chase it even as its hands held his hips with a bruising tightness, keeping him in place until its head dipped again, its teeth grazing lightly down his length.

His eyes were starting to glaze over as his head lolled back to rest against the wall. It was that combination of pleasure-pain that brought him to the edge of his limit as quickly as it did. Already he could feel that building wave of pressure and tightness inside the pit of his chest. His breath was coming in ragged pants, and he couldn’t stop that fine shiver from running through him. As it swallowed again and growled deep in its throat, an action that he felt right through his body, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

With a fresh gasp and a moan that he bit off, he arched as much as possible, every muscle contracting, and the world went white behind his eyelids as he came hard. Still, it kept its lips around him, swallowing until he dropped back, spent.

Only then did it let him go and trace a nail over the skin on the inside of his thigh. Opening his eyes he saw that it had gone into that half-shift that it favoured. Grasping his legs it tugged him further down the bed, until he was flat on his back and parted his legs.

After the way he had just come its cool fingertips running up his crack and the fingertips were circling him was almost too much. Raising a hand it slipped a pair of fingers between his lips for a moment, then pushed them into his body roughly, fast enough and hard enough to sting, all that tenderness that it had been showing just before gone in a heartbeat. He could feel its fingers moving inside him, stretching him and touching him, and even that pain wasn’t a bad thing. It pulled them out of him and lined its cock up with him, pushing in without giving him the time to brace himself.

Too much, it was all too much. Yet in the same moment he wanted more. He tightened his muscles around its cool length to make it burn inside. His eyes were watering as it moved inside him, still rough and fast, laying him open.

This did his head in, and he was sure that Ethan knew it, too. 

It grasped his hips again, moving faster and sliding deeper and he lifted his hands to grab at its shoulders, raised his body to meet it, not caring about the shot of pain that spreading his fingers sent through his left hand. He wanted the pain.

All that he cared about right now was what it was doing to him, what he had grown to enjoy even as he hated.

Gods, but was it really any wonder that he hated Ethan, for putting him in this position?

He could feel every breath that it drew to lend it strength and he knew that it was getting closer to its own edge as its movements became rougher, and it lost its rhythm, moving for the sake of the friction alone.

Its fingernails bit deeply into him and it froze, looking straight down at him as it came without biting him in the same moment. It shuddered inside him and he gasped as he felt that familiar chill inside him. He watched as the yellow blaze in its eyes dulled back to that regular shade of brown and its teeth shrink back to resemble normal human canines. 

Letting out one last slow breath it let go of him and rested its hands on the bed as it pulled out of him and turned off the bedside lamp, throwing its face into shadows. The speed with which it could go from movement to complete, utter inaction almost never failed to surprise him, and this time was no exception as it stretched out beside him and draped a single arm across his chest.

Lazily, catlike, it flicked out its tongue and licked at his shoulder before it closed its eyes. It wasn’t sleep, or its mockery of sleep. It was simply resting.

“Try and get some rest now.”

Its voice still carried that ever-present note of order.

**Sunnydale 1998**

When Willow and Xander came back, Buffy was in the middle of ducking a high kick that had been launched in her direction, and was rallying for a counter. They were both sweating freely, and had been working out since they had started some twenty minutes after the other two had left.

Working out, sniping, and debating had proved to be a good way to pass the time.

“Well, that’s one point to the Slayer,” Xander spoke as she straightened, then watched as, due to her distraction Rupert landed an uppercut to her shoulder, “and three points to the Watcher, since he’s only human.”

“Ouch,” Buffy pointedly rubbed at her shoulder and looked at him, “and that’s completely not fair.”

“Anyway,” Willow pushed her hair back out of her eyes, “we’ve done the whole phone-thing. We’re both staying over at Buffy’s, since her mom’s out of town.”

Rupert looked at them, “Your parents both agreed to this?”

Xander shrugged, “My mom couldn’t really care less, and nor could my dad as long as I don’t get in the way of the T.V or the beer.”

Rupert wanted to offer sympathy, but he knew exactly how it would be received. Hostility would be the most likely outcome, and that wasn’t something that any of them needed tonight. He wondered what side of the family it was that carried the blood of the Old Ones, or whether it was both of them. They did both seem like potential candidates, from everything that he’d heard about them.

Willow shot Xander a glance, but didn’t say anything to him about it either, “My parents are all for me socialising and spending time with my friends, so it wasn’t really a problem. As long as I tell them where I am, then they don’t worry. As soon as I said that Buffy’s mom was out of town, and that Xander was crashing there too then she more or less pushed me out of the door.”

If Rupert had been pretending to be the responsible adult that he was apparently masquerading as, then he would have said something about the lies that the pair of them had just spun. But on the other hand, it was likely that Willow and Xander would wind up at Buffy’s after they had finished tonight anyway, so it wasn’t so much a lie as it was not telling the whole truth.

He pushed away the dark voice which whispered _if they both survive the night that is._

He would see to it that they went into this with four people, and came out with four.

“Right, you two; you’re both comfortable with the weapons that you’ve chosen, then?”

Xander grinned, “Yeah, I can hit a target with that crossbow at least half the time that I use it.”

Willow picked up the wooden knife from where he’d left it on the bench, and held it almost reverently.

“This just feels right, too, you know?”

Rupert nodded to her, before turning his attention to Buffy, who was wiping the sweat off her forehead with the hem of her shirt, “And you, Buffy? You’re fine?”

She grinned, the rush of energy that she’d experienced from her workout obvious in her expression, “I reckon I’m peachy, with a side of keen. What about you, Giles? Didn’t wear you out, did I?”

He looked back at her and rolled his eyes, “I shall endeavour to survive, and perhaps even keep up with you.”

“That’s good,” her grin spread a little wider, “I’d hate for you to collapse in the middle of the fight after all.”

“Rest assured there is little chance of that.”

He turned in a half-circle, looking at the three of them. Buffy was holding herself tensely again as the hour drew closer, something that he knew would pass when they went into the battle itself. Willow and Xander both looked edgy, but sure of themselves and sure that they were in the right place, doing the right thing.

“Right, so we go in hard and fast. You’ll need to keep moving, stay on your toes; they can’t kill you if the can’t get a hold of you. Xander, I want you to focus on the long-range attacks. Clearing a circle or a path would be the most useful thing that you can do. Willow, I’ll get you to stay near him, protect him from anything that gets too close. Buffy and I will be…” 

He fell silent, as the door to the library opened and a tall, lanky vampire with dark matted hair, in full game face came in. It was dressed in an old suit that was encrusted with dirt and smelled faintly of mildew which meant that it probably hadn’t changed since it had risen.

“Lovely planning, people,” its voice was rough and hoarse and it grinned at him, showing lethal fangs, “however, let me make a slight amendment for you. You and your Slayer will be more concerned with dying.”

It raised a pair of fingers to it lips and wolf-whistled, a loud piercing sound. And in response the windows shattered inwards as vampires came in through them, and spread out in a circle around them.

“Get them, boys. And remember, the boss needs the Watcher and Slayer alive. If anyone kills them before the ritual, then I’ll take the head off the imbecile myself. The other two can be the prize for whoever brings…”

The bolt flew from the crossbow that Buffy had snatched from Xander’s hands, and straight through its heart. It looked down for half a second.

“Oh, bug…”

It dusted.

“He was really beginning to bore me. You’d think by now that they would have learned to avoid the speeches.”

The group fell completely silent, frozen on the knife-edge of violence. Then one of the vampires moved, Buffy tossed the crossbow back to Xander and the fight erupted.

Rupert grabbed up the war-hammer, and met the vampire that was rushing at him with a crushing blow aimed towards its neck which it moved to avoid. As it got inside his guard he loosened his grasp and let the head drop down in his hand, before raising it to use the pointed end of the handle as a stake. It was still moving quickly enough that it impaled itself.

There were still another ten in the room though, which weren’t the best of odds. In the moment that he had he glanced towards the other three. Xander was trying to line up another shot, Willow was staying near him, and Buffy had grabbed the sword, and was grappling with one particular vampire that seemed to be a particularly skilled fighter, which was ducking and lunging and snapping and clawing at her.

She couldn’t fully give herself to the moment, for fear of hitting her friends, but she was slowly working her opponent towards the centre of the room, where she could fight uninhibited.

He hoped that none of them had the intelligence to figure out what Buffy’s weakness was. If even one of them got hold of Willow or Xander and ordered a halt to the fighting, and total co-operation, that was when it would come down to the wire. That was just what they didn’t need.

His moment of distraction got him a painful kick to the small of his back, and he spun, swinging the hammer out wide so that the head of it caught the side of the vampire in the side of the skull hard enough to stun it a few vital seconds that he needed. He then swung the axe-like head of the hammer back the other way and clean through its neck, and it fell to the ground in two separate pieces that exploded into dust.

Xander got off a shot that was on target, sinking into the back of a vampire that was trying to find the ideal position to tackle Buffy from, and Buffy had now disposed of her first opponent and another one as well, bringing the number down to a slightly more reasonable six against four. Of course, that was if their luck held out and this group was all that had been sent to bring them in.

Two of the remaining vampires shared a glance, and changed from their advance on the Slayer, to circle closer to Willow, who was brandishing the ten inch wooden knife in front of her, swiping out with it whenever a hand got too close for comfort. Buffy was busy fending off the other four which had piled into her as one, and the two that had split off were too close to Willow for Xander to feel safe shooting at them.

He would have to trust Buffy to take care of herself for the moment. Swinging the hammer in a circle over his head to build momentum he took careful aim and brought it down into a blow against the left shoulder of the vampire that was closest to Willow. He didn’t want to risk her by aiming for its neck which was a lot closer to her.

It spun, howling with rage rather than pain and lunged towards him at the exact same moment as the other leapt for Willow and drove her to the ground. He had just enough time to reverse the hammer again and he staked it in one smooth movement. He was just in time to see Xander driving a stake into the back of the one that was on top of Willow, slamming it down as hard as he could.

In the centre of the room Buffy was a whirling tornado of blade and fury, putting everything that she had into her assault. As one of the vampire stumbled back, dust where its arm used to be, Rupert stepped forward and plunged the handle of the hammer into its back, moving back as quickly as he could to keep out of Buffy’s way.

Seconds later her sword went cleanly through the necks of two more of them, and the last one aborted its attack and began to back away from Buffy, looking around nervously, as though trying to work out what had happened to its allies. 

Rupert threw himself after it and just managed to catch a shoulder and curl a single leg around its, bringing it heavily to the ground. Letting go of it he rose then slammed back down, driving his knee into the centre of its back, ignoring the jolt of pain that it sent up through him. Willow pulled a face at the sound that made, and Rupert leaned his full weight against the vampire under him.

“Stake him, Giles,” Buffy’s tone of voice was curt.

Rupert grasped it around the neck, driving his fingers hard into the flesh and muscle.

“We could always have it go in ahead of us, and tell them that there was a brief spot of trouble,” his grasp tightened, “and that the rest of its pack-mate will be bringing us along soon. Defuse the situation, throw them off guard before we strike.”

“And how would you make sure that he said exactly that, and nothing else? Wait; even if you do have a way then I don’t actually want to know about it. It’s too risky, and this isn’t the time to bring your personal feelings into things. You don’t need to prove anything, either. Stake him, Giles.”

Scowling he took his weight off it, swapped the hammer from his right hand to his left, and flipped it over before driving the handle into its chest.

“There, satisfied?” he asked in his snarkiest tone, as he brushed the dust off his pants.

“Thanks.”

He was surprised to see an expression of genuine gratitude on her face. She caught the confusion in his glance.

“You’re kind of scary when you get like that.”

_I am who and what I am, my dear._

He nodded to her and then turned his attention back to Willow and Xander, who had both stood up and were brushing dust off themselves, too.

“The two of you are alright? No bites or anything of the sort?”

Xander shrugged, “I think my heart’s going at about a thousand beats a minute, and on the verge of exploding, but that always happens when we tangle with vampires, so aside from that I’m fine.”

“Willow?” he stepped closer to her.

“Scratches and a few sore spots that might become bruises,” she raised her arm to look at a thin, but reasonably deep scratch down it, and rolled her shoulder where the vampire that had brought her down had grabbed her, wincing slightly, “but I’ll live.”

Rupert sighed, a sound of relief, and leaned back against one of the tables, “Well, if the two of you wanted to stop here after that, and leave the rest of this up to Buffy and I, then I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest.”

Xander looked at him, with an expression of disbelief, “Did you honestly expect to be able to get rid of us that easily? We don’t even have any non-fatal wounds, or broken bones,” he joked to hide his fears, but Rupert could still hear the honesty in it.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” Willow backed him up.

“The sooner you face it the better off you’ll be,” Xander grinned sheepishly, “you’re stuck with us for the rest of the night, or at least until this thing’s over, anyway. I don’t really want to wake up in a Master-ruled Sunnydale tomorrow and not know about it until the class is invited over for dinner, and it’s not a date.”

Willow nodded, “Better for us to go with, you know?”

“I know to admit when I’m defeated,” Rupert gave in as graciously as he could.

“So, are we on the move, then?” Buffy was showing a little less of a typical Slayer’s restlessness after the scuffle, but she was still obviously eager to get going, and get back into action once more.

Rupert nodded, “We are. Ethan left the car out in the lot just after sunset, so that will make things easier for us. Buffy, bag up the weapons, please, then everyone out.”

“Bag?” she asked.

Rupert headed back into his office and grabbed out a gym-type bag that he tucked his hammer into, before handing it over to her. She sheathed the sword and put that in as well, before holding it out toward Willow and Xander who put in the crossbow, bolts, knife, and several stakes.

“On the bright side, after that, this should be reasonably straight-forward,” Rupert’s voice was just loud enough for the others to hear.

“You had to say it, didn’t you?” Willow asked in a plaintive tone.


	7. Chapter 6 – Surprises (In The Long Run)

** Chapter 6 – Surprises (In The Long Run) **

“Just remember everything I lost  
Surely you’ll remember everything it cost”  
\- 3 Doors Down – Feet In The Water

**England 1980**

The rest of the night seemed to drag past, as the windows slowly darkened while the sun rose outside and Rupert’s hand worsened from that dull throb of before to something that he could feel right up his arm with every heartbeat.

He supposed that he must have drifted, because at one stage when he opened his eyes it was to find the blanket on the ground and the sheet in a tangled mess and yet pulled up over them.

The next time he stirred the windows were lightning to reveal the last traces of sunset across the sky. Still, he lay under the sheet keeping his eyes closed and keeping his breathing steady. His leg still stung slightly, in spite of the healing blood as well. He guessed that it must have taken less of the Ravven’s venom than his hand. Ethan had said some time earlier that day that it was something which would pass in a few days, as the last lingering traces of the Ravven’s venom cleared from his system. 

Ethan rose as soon as the sun set and left without a word to him, even though it knew he was awake, so it could hunt without its human anchor slowing it down.

Its feeding was still something that he felt uncomfortable around, something that he avoided as much as he possibly could. Such a thing just reminded him (like he could ever forget) of what was going to be his eventually.

He knew that he should get up and ready for another long night, but he couldn’t really be buggered. Just laying here had something about it that was appealing. With only the sound of his breathing and the occasional car going past outside as company he tried not to think about anything, especially not his life and the mess that it had become.

He had remembered some time towards the middle of the day that he had been meant to meet Deidre again, too, but he’d been feeling too out of it to trust his own footing, yet another side-effect of that lovely poison. 

If Ethan had offered its wrist, then he knew that its blood would have cleared his head and acted as a painkiller as well, but it hadn’t. Even if it had offered he wasn’t sure whether he would have talked himself into or out of drinking. He liked to think that he would have said no, but he doubted it.

It hadn’t given him the dressing down that he’d expected either, beyond what it had said to him last night. He supposed that it had left him with some pain to make its point clear.

Closing his eyes, he stretched, arching his back off the bed and winced as he curled his hand into a fist. Still without opening his eyes, he rolled oven onto his side with a groan and tucked the hand that didn’t hurt under his head as he started thinking again.

Would he be better off if he told Deirdre exactly what he wanted, or would she kill him in order to kill the beast that had turned her ancestor? She didn’t seem to have many scruples. She couldn’t have survived as long as she had, if she had let herself fall pray to the idea of morality, and he wanted a way out of this that would leave him both alive and sane afterwards.

He also knew that if he found what he wanted then he wouldn’t have a choice but to slay Ethan before it killed him. He wanted to it dead. Preferably by his own hand, but if someone else were better placed to do it, then he would live with that.

That was what he kept on telling himself.

Downstairs he heard the door open and close, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. If it didn’t want to be heard then he wouldn’t have heard a thing, so it was obviously giving him some notice before it came in.

Stubbornly, he still refused to move or even open his eyes.

“You do realise that you weren’t fooling me the first time, either?” Ethan’s voice sounded amused, as it spoke to him from the doorway.

“I wasn’t trying to fool you.” Still, he burrowed even further into the pillow if such a thing was possible. “What gives me away, anyway?”

“Your heart speeds up. Then there are more obvious signs, of course.”

“You didn’t make me get up.”

“No, I didn’t. So how’s the hand tonight?”

Finally he rolled over towards the side of the room that it was on and opened his eyes. 

Its expression was passive, the dark brown eyes glinting with that almost perpetual amusement, in a face that was flushed with colour The black trousers that it was wearing blended into the shadow, and the fitted dark brown leather jacket that it was wearing was open to reveal a white button-up shirt underneath.

He could see white clouds of steam as he breathed, but the temperature never seemed to make the slightest bit of difference to it.

“How the hell do you think the hand is?” he growled, although he was unable to muster any true malice.

“That depends on if that reply is anything to go by. I’d like you to get up now.”

Those words were delivered in the same mild tone that the rest of it had been held in, but he still knew an order when he heard one.

With a pointed glare he threw back the sheet to join the blanket which he’d tossed off several hours ago, and pushed himself to his feet, being careful to keep the still throbbing hand from coming into contact with the mattress. He knew that Ethan would notice that, but it didn’t comment, which gave credence to his theory that the pain was another part of its lesson, and not even a particularly harsh one, for all of that. It was painful, to be sure, but tolerable.

He ignored the way that it looked him up and down as he crossed the room to the dresser and wrestled the bottom drawer open single-handed, to grab out pants and jeans. The pair that he’d worn yesterday was in a hell of a state.

Keeping his hand fisted he tugged a shirt on over his head and stepped into the pants, pulling them up. It was only after he’d pulled the jeans up as well that he realised he would need both hands to do them up with. Gritting his teeth he uncurled the fist and got the job done as quickly as he could.

“Good lad,” it still sounded as though it was laughing at him, but he tried not to react to that.

“So, is that the torture for the night over and done with, then?”

It ignored the sarcastic tone in his voice, as it dug out an envelope that had been opened already and handed it over to him. Grasping the envelope in his bad hand he tugged out the letter in it with his good hand and unfolded it.

The handwriting was his fathers. It was request and a direct invitation to come by a place that was on the edge of town. The address was specified and the message was limited to only the words that were necessary.

He knew why. An invitation had to be personal, and the only way that a written invitation could be personal enough to break through sanctuary magic was if blood was mixed in with the ink it was written in. 

“Go on, you’ve got tonight off.”

He didn’t reply as he folded the letter back up and tucked it into the envelope again, making a mental note to burn it as he stuffed it into his pocket. There were far too many dark spells that could be cast with blood.

The last time he’d seen him had been two years ago, or was it three? He wasn’t entirely sure now. Heading out of the bedroom he made his way downstairs stopping only to grab his jacket and the flick-knife. 

He didn’t say anything as he left the place, closing the door behind him.

**Sunnydale 1998**

It was only a fifteen minute drive out to the old factory, when with the weapons it would have taken a hell of a lot longer to walk the distance. The fight had taken only about twenty minutes as well, from the first invasion to the last dusting, although it had certainly felt like it had taken a lot longer than that. Then again life threatening situations always did feel like that.

Rupert had also insisted on checking the three teenagers over properly for any injuries that may have been missed due to the rush of adrenalin, although they had insisted that they were fine. It wouldn’t have done anyone any good to get to the old factory and discover that things were, in matter of fact, a lot worse than they looked. 

They had been lucky though; the worst that they had were the kick to the back that he’d taken, which twinged occasionally but wasn’t much more than distracting, Willow’s shoulder, and what looked like it would become one hell of a deep bruise on Buffy’s upper arm where a fist had broken through her guard.

If every fight could have ended like that, then life would have been easy.

Everything was on schedule. A block away from the factory, he pulled over. There was no-one out here, although it wasn’t all that late, or even that far outside of the town limit. 

The factory stood in the distance, and Rupert could understand why anyone in their right mind would avoid it; rather then the forlorn, neglected appearance of most abandoned buildings this one almost seemed to hunch down, hiding in the shadows, waiting for a chance to swallow them whole. The few window that were left intact glinted dully at him in what little light there was, and he could almost imagine that the building itself were watching them, working out what to do.

He made a mental note to find out this place’s history. What if it was poised above the Hellmouth itself?

Buffy shivered beside him, as she grabbed the bag of weapons out of the boot, “Okay, ideal horror movie location.”

“Apart from the fact that cameras or anything electrical, really, doesn’t actually work around it or in it,” Willow said.

“And apart from the fact that a lot of people who walk through those doors, or go in through those windows are never seen again,” Xander added.

Rupert unzipped his bag and took out his war-hammer, then stood aside so that the others could get out their weapons. “Yes, well let’s endeavour not to join their number, shall we?” his breath rose in a frosty white cloud and he wondered whether the lack of Californian heat here was due to the ritual being worked tonight, or whether it was a part of the intrinsic charm of this place.

As Willow grabbed the knife out, Rupert stopped her with a hand on her arm, “Remind me to work with you on your technique later too, if you’re going to keep using that in the future.”

“Technique?” she asked.

“Yes. It doesn’t hurt to understand everything that you can do with a weapon, and there is certainly more that you can do with that then swipe. Just because a vampire can’t pick it up if you loose it, doesn’t meant that it can’t still be turned against you.”

“Okay, sure,” Willow nodded, and Xander tossed the bag which now only held the sword sheath back into the depths of the boot.

“Right, so we’re still clear on what we’re doing?” he looked from Buffy to Willow, and then his gaze settled on Xander. Non-direct exposure to magic had already proved that it wouldn’t do anything, but it was still a risk that he found himself reluctant to take in case something changed. He wanted to use his own power to shield the boy completely from unfriendly spells, but he knew that he couldn’t.

He didn’t dare risk interfering with Xander magically, for good or ill. While indirect magic might have no effect he knew for a fact that a spell focused directly on him would be more than enough to tip the balance.

“Yep, we know,” Xander gave him an uneasy grin, “just like at the rehearsal dinner. Willow stays near me, I shoot over her shoulder and try to avoid friendly fire, and you and Buffy tackle the main spell.”

Then Xander closed the boot without thinking, and the sound was loud enough to make him wince.

“Yes, and let’s just hope that…”

He trailed off, as a low, deadly growl sounded from several feet ahead of them, and he caught a glimpse of wiry black and silver fur. He heard the sound of paws on the ground as the Wolfhound darted from the shadows and circled around behind them, passed in front again quicker than Xander could line up a shot. It then approached from the back left with a flurry of barks and snapping teeth, which drove him forward several paces, then moved again just as Xander got it into his sights. This time it did the same thing from the right, driving Buffy forward a few steps.

It didn’t take much to work out that the bloody thing was herding them.

Snarling it stalked forward a few steps, stiff-legged and with its ears laid flat. There was enough light for him to see that combination of intelligence and hellhound hunger in its bright orange eyes.

Again, Xander turned, following it, and raised the crossbow, and it darted out of his sights. If a bolt were to hit it then it would need far more than the little-practised hand of a teenaged boy aiming it. He could see that Xander didn’t have the speed that he needed, or the confidence or practise to shoot without sighting.

After its next lunging rush and dart, Rupert held the war-hammer out towards Xander, “Take it and give me that.”

Xander did what he said without hesitation. 

As the beast went to come around in front of them again Rupert snapped off a quick shot towards where it should have been, which buried into the ground as it doubled back at the last second. He took notice of that, like he’d been taught to, rather than cursing his luck as he once would have. The next time it tried it he snapped off the shot a few seconds earlier, reloaded as quickly as he could and sent the second bolt towards the spot where it doubled back to.

While it didn’t burry into the beast, he was still rewarded with a yelp as the bolt tore along its side, and the wolfhound drew back a few steps, and then looked at him. Had it been more than just an animal he would have said it had murder in its eyes.

After it drew away again it paused in the shadows and licked once at its side. Rupert took the opportunity that he knew he wouldn’t get again, and fired towards it once more. He still didn’t score a lethal hit, but this time the bolt went through its right foreleg.

The beast redoubled its attack, and the front doors were thrown open at the exact same moment as it lunged for Buffy.

“Watch yourself; Buffy,” he snapped, “One bite is all that it will take to kill you, or turn you into a werewolf if you survive the initial poison.”

No need to say that if it did get its teeth into her then that would probably be followed by having her throat slit by vampires, anyway.

She fended it off, and it sunk down onto its haunches for another lunge, while four vampires wearing war-paint of blood, and runes that looked as though they had been etched with holy water left the security of the dark building. The only light was cast by the candles surrounding the Master’s bones. One vampire remained in there, standing over the bones, as unholy priest and leader, wearing its game face.

This time when the wolfhound lunged Buffy brought the sword down into a solid blow and for once its yelp held a true note of pain as she laid its shoulder open to the bone.

“So do you think they know we’re here?” Xander asked jokingly from behind him.

As the Wolfhound retreated a few limping steps the vampire that hadn’t left the building threw its arms open wide.

“Why resist us? The two of you who are needed will have the honour of serving our master with your lives, and the other two of you will be given the reward of an early death. You won’t have to watch as we put your sorry species back into its place, to be the cattle that you are. Instead, one of us will watch from behind your eyes as true order regains the world.”

“I’ve an even better idea,” Rupert let a hint of Ripper, cold and sure, through into his tone, feeling as supremely confident as he ever did when looking down the barrel of a fight. That was the difference between planning and waiting, between anticipation and seeing the final challenge ahead of him. 

“Really?” the vampire sounded curious and dismissive.

“Yes, really,” he grinned, “how about you tossers run before you scatter?”

It tilted its head slightly to one side, as though actually considering it, before it spoke in a drawl.

“Scatter?”

Rupert spun and loosened a bolt in the direction of the closest vampire, and it tore through its throat and ripped out a chunk of its spine effectively decapitating it, in demonstration.

“Or you could tell us who you’re working for. You wouldn’t be resurrecting the Master of your own free will, not when the common vampire is as power-hungry as it is.”

“We work for a power that is stronger than you could ever hope to comprehend.”

“So that anointed pest is still around then,” he nodded, “thanks for that.” Rupert passed the crossbow back to Xander and took his war-hammer back as the three remaining vampires closed ranks.

“Keep an eye on that bloody devil-dog, Xander. Buffy, go.”

“But…”

“No ‘buts’. Go.”

He allowed himself a moment that wouldn’t be the end of him, to watch as she went from standing to a full run, and the vampire priest braced itself, stance sold and low and fingers spread into wicked-looking hooked claws. She leaped cleanly over its head. 

Rupert turned back towards the three vampires that were flanking them.

The Wolfhound leaped straight for Xander from out of the shadows, at the exact moment as two of the vampires came at them, and the third began a wild dash to join its master, which had spun to grab Buffy and pull her back away from the bones. 

At that moment the Wolfhound’s wound didn’t seem as bad as it had before. Xander raised the crossbow and pulled the trigger out of reflex rather than planning, and by luck the bolt lodged into the flesh where one of its forelegs joined its body. It landed awkwardly since it was unable to lower its leg. 

Rupert turned his attention from it, to what was the more immediate threat right then; the vampire that was almost on him. But he knew how to handle vampires, had learned a lot from going hand to hand with Ethan, even though it had never been seeking to actually kill him. 

He let his body go lax, as its weight crashed into him and threw him back onto the ground, knocking the wind from him. It was better to just go with it, rather than keep tensed. It went for his neck, and in that moment when it was focused on nothing else, he rolled sideways, pushing it over onto its back and used the handle of his hammer as a stake once again.

He glanced back toward Willow and Xander, to see Willow keeping the other vampire back, as Xander loaded the crossbow again. The next bolt that he fired at the Wolfhound was well-aimed, and it sunk into its head just below an ear. 

Rupert found his footing again, in spite of the fact that he was really beginning to feel every muscle that he had, and slammed the stake-like handle through the other vampire’s back as it was tried to bite Willow. It didn’t even have the time to glance back over its shoulder, before it dusted.

In that brief moment Buffy had already decapitated one of her vampires, but the last one, their leader, was proving exactly why it was the leader. 

It truly was a cut above the others, in terms of its skill. It had clearly survived and even thrived throughout the infighting that inevitably took place when a new vampire was sired. It wasn’t unheard of for an older vampire to drain a new-born totally, simply because it could.

He watched as it ducked under a swing and avoided a fist then took a kick to its side. It hit the ground rolling, and was back up before Buffy had time to either line up the sword while it was down, or pull a stake to do the job. She tried to circle past it, to get closer to the bones again and it moved with her.

In that he saw his opportunity. He began to edge a little closer and made a run for the bench where the bones were stretched out while it was engaged in another round with Buffy, and about three seconds before he got there it was in front of him. It tripped him with a single sweeping leg, and then grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him backwards, as hard as it could.

Before his head met with far wall he took some satisfaction, from the startled expression on its face as Buffy made the most of the opportunity, to decapitate it cleanly.

He collided with the wall with full force, like he was no more than a dishcloth, and the world instantly went grey at the edges of his vision. He tried to use something else that Ethan had taught him. Focusing on the pain and his breathing he clung to consciousness even as he closed his eyes.

The world swum, and he felt like he had been kicked in the head, but he managed to stay with it.

When he felt hands grasping his shoulder and heard a voice asking desperately if someone else knew whether he was going to be okay he even managed to open his eyes and groan pointedly, in spite of the fact that the world seemed painfully bright and the vibration from talking sound made him feel sick. Buffy was peering at him intently.

“I dare say I’ll survive. Hurts like a bloody bitch, though. The bones?”

“Like a great big jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing.”

Willow nodded, “You were pretty out of it there, for a few minutes.”

He closed his eyes again, and focused on his breathing again, until he heard Buffy’s concerned-sounding voice.

“Do you think he needs an ambulance?”

At that he opened his eyes again, mentally braced himself, and reached upwards with a hand that seemed to be stuck on slow motion.

“I’ll be fine. Give me a hand, please?”

“Are you sure you should be sitting up quite this soon? I really wouldn’t want your brain to come dribbling out of you ears, and that was one serious knock that you took,” even as he spoke Xander grasped his hand around the wrist and with some effort he managed to sit up.

“I assure you I’ll give you enough warning to avoid brain fragments,” he muttered dryly, and the earth swayed under him again. He couldn’t call this feeling sea-sick, but it had all the same inherent qualities. 

“Now, did any of you know how to drive? I’m afraid controlling a vehicle is a little beyond me at the moment.”

Buffy shook her head, “Mom tried to show me earlier on this year. She got out with a white face and swore never again.”

Xander cleared his throat, “I learned three years ago. Pretty much an essential survival skill in my life.”

He made a mental note to question that later, and then wondered whether he would remember to remember. Right now he would settle for being grateful.

“Bring the car down here, please? I’m not sure that I want to try walking quite that far.”

“Sure,” he held out his hand, and Rupert stared at it.

After a few moments had dragged out Xander cleared his throat, “You know the keys might help.”

“Oh.”

Tilting his head to one side, and that was a bad idea, he dug into his pocket and eventually produced them. Then, blinking to focus his eyes, he pressed them into Xander’s hand.

“I didn’t know he could drive,” Buffy said.

“I did,” Willow shifted slightly.

Buffy watched after him and then turned back to Rupert, “So, last chance for hospitally goodness?”

“I’ll pass,” he closed his eyes again, and rested his back against the wall, keeping his head forward.

“Just as long as you don’t pass out,” Buffy tried to lighten things a little.

It seemed like an incredibly long time before Xander brought the car around, but it couldn’t have been all that long. At his instruction Willow loaded the weapons back into the boot and then looked at him.

“So, how is this going to work? Do we drop you and the car off and then walk or what?”

“I’ve an idea,” spoke a cool voice, from the shadows. He opened his eyes fully, and sat back wincing as his head touched metal and sent another jolt of pain down through him.

He watched as Ethan came fully out into the light, its eyes flashing over both Willow and Xander as it sniffed slightly at the air and its lips tugged up into that familiar half-smile, which was almost a smirk, before it turned its attention fully to him.

“How is that your head of yours?” it almost sounded as though it were mocking him.

He leaned forward, placing both hands on the ground with plans of standing and saying something along the lines of _just bloody fine_ , but when he went to push himself up the earth tilted alarmingly and it was all that he could do not to nosedive towards the ground.

Instead he had to settle for sitting back again, and glaring, “Never better.”

It almost seemed to be counting off the seconds, before he spoke again, “I thought I told you that I didn’t want…”

“I thought,” it interrupted, “you’d have worked out that I’d still be watching. What’s more is when have I ever done what you said?”

“Don’t care. I said…”

“Oh, relax.” Ethan cut him off again, “I won’t corrupt your children Rupert.”

“If you…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” it smirked, “one finger on them and you’ll chop me into little tiny bits if you can. I think not, but whatever it takes to comfort you.”

Xander looked amused at the exchange, while Willow was watching Ethan warily. He supposed that they didn’t have to be geniuses to work out who this was. Ethan bent down and picked him up with ease then settled him into the front seat, tilted the chair back and buckled him in.

Its gaze flicked over to Xander, who was still in the front seat.

“Go on, I want all three of you in the back. Then it’s your place I would assume, Miss Summers, since there isn’t anyone else there at the moment?”

“How the hell do you know that?” Even half out of it, he could tell by her tone of voice that Buffy still felt slightly threatened by this, even after the events of last term. It was something that he was glad to hear, since it showed that she still tread cautiously around power.

“Just because you don’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not around,” it said conversationally, as it waited while Xander left the driver’s seat and the three teens got into the back.

“And yet it’s never when you’re actually wanted, only after no-one needs you.”

By now he was alert enough to see the first sparks of anger in Ethan’s gaze.

He could imagine its reply without needing to hear it. Something along the lines of maybe it should have stood aside and let the Master do what it had wanted to.

“Yes, her place,” Rupert interrupted before anything could get started.

Ethan nodded and Rupert closed his eyes as it reversed the car and turned. The next time that he opened them it was when they stopped at Buffy’s. He watched as Willow and Xander slid out of the car, before she leaned forward.

“You sure you’ll be alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” Ethan answered for him, but she still seemed reluctant to leave.

“Look, at least give me a ring in the morning. Let me know you survived the night, or whatever.”

“Yes, Buffy. I will.”

Even though she was beginning to sound a little like a scratched record the fact that she was obviously genuinely concerned for him made him feel warm somewhere deep inside. Reaching up he grasped lightly around her wrist.

“I have received worse scrapes, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” she squeezed back lightly.

“Try and have a good night. Make the most of being home alone, yes?”

“Will do, Giles.”

She let go and slipped out of the car, closing the door behind her. Ethan stayed parked until all three of them had going into the house, then started up the car again and drove along a few blocks, and pulled into an empty open car-park.

“So, how are you really?” it undid the seatbelt and twisted to him.

“I’ve been worse. I’ve been better, too, but I don’t think I’m going to be sick this time, which is something, at least.”

“You’re not bleeding.”

“Close thing though, I dare say,” he tried to keep his voice neutral. He didn’t feel up to an argument tonight, although he could feel he fight looming above them, much like the factory had seemed to be waiting for its ideal victim.

“Yes, very close.”

For a good few minutes there was only the ticking of the cooling car for company. He tried to find the words and a way to say them that was safe, because the last thing that he needed was another headache.

“Go ahead, you may as well stop biting your tongue and say it,” the way that its voice broke the silence almost made him jump.

“Very well, then. I know for a fact that I told you that I didn’t want you anywhere near them, unless it were a life or death situation, and even then only if one of them was dangling off a bloody cliff-face only hanging on by one finger.”

“Yes, well. Not many cliff-faces in Sunnydale are there?”

“That’s precisely the bloody point.”

“So you expected me to get to know your children how, exactly?”

“You shouldn’t care about getting to know them. Again, my point speaks for itself. They are not a part of your life, they are a part of mine, and I fail to see why the two should have any fucking cause for overlap.”

“Yet if they are going to be a part of your life for as long as you live, then it is inevitable. So isn’t it that much better for you if they get to know me under,” it pause delicately, “safe circumstances?”

“Tell me what the hell something as callous as you would call safe circumstances?”

“Well, I’m not going to rip their throats out, Rupert. Shouldn’t that be safe enough?”

“No.”

He wished he could sound a lot less childish. But it wasn’t really childish to want to protect Buffy, Willow and Xander, and keep them at arms length from Ethan, was it? He’d seen proof of it over and over again, that the ancient didn’t see the world in the same hues as he did. And even while his sight was inevitably growing darkened, he was still sworn to protect his Slayer.

He hadn’t sworn it to the Council, only to himself, but that didn’t make the vow any less real.

Protecting her also included keeping creatures like Ethan away from her. Didn’t it?

Damn it, but his head hurt, and the only thing that he really wanted right now was to be at home, curled up and sleeping.

“No? Can you give me a definitive reason?” it prodded at him.

“The fact that I don’t want you near them should be enough.”

“Did you honestly expect it to be?”

Defeated, he slumped further into his seat, pulling a face as his head touched the back of his seat.

“No. But I still promise you that of you harm them in any way, then I don’t care that it will be the end of me, I will slaughter you.”

“You can always try,” it gave him that wide grin which made him want to hit it.

“Can we please get back to the house now? I think I’ve done enough talking for one night.”

“Yes, I dare say you have.” 

The only good thing about living with the vampire was that it wouldn’t have to prod him awake to check on him every hour or so. It would be able to tell if he was anywhere near being in a coma simply by listening for changes in his blood-pressure or breathing.

He let himself relax as it started the car again, and pulled back onto the road. The streetlights were harsh through the windows, and his head was beginning to clear a little. Of course the only thing that the passing of some of the haziness really meant was that the pain was growing a lot sharper. In spite of its words he raised a hand to the back of his head, and felt over it gingerly, wincing at the size of the lump that he found there.

“How close did you actually get to unconsciousness?” Its voice startled him again. Okay, so maybe his head wasn’t clearing as much as he would have liked.

“As you say, close enough. My head met the wall and everything went grey.”

He began to giggle, with no idea of why.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t a favourable meeting. It’s possible that I left a dent.”

“Rupert,” it pulled to a stop in front of the house, “what am I going to do with you?”

He tried to ignore both the words and the fact that there was genuine affection in its voice. He didn’t want to hear it. Fifteen…well; sixteen years and time had now only just started to do its work, healing his wounds. Time had only just started to soften his attitude towards Ethan a little; and that alone was something that he didn’t want to contemplate.

The fact that he didn’t have a choice should have made his resignation to this life a softer blow, but it really only served the throw everything into a sharper relief. He didn’t have a choice, which meant that he should hate Ethan for taking away that choice, not accept the vampire and start to think about it in terms of an actual being, on occasion.

“Were you going to come in, or were you going to spend the rest of the night in the car?” he looked up to where it was standing, with the door open and both hands on the roof, “Or did you want me to carry you again?” it smirked.

“No, no, I’m coming.”

He undid the seatbelt and slid out of the car, locking the door behind him before he stood up slowly, so that the action didn’t make his head spin again. It was true that he’d said he didn’t think he was going to be sick this time, but he wasn’t far off it. He made his way over to the door with equal care, as it closed and locked the driver’s side door, before making its was over to the front door and unlocking it. 

Then it stood aside to let him in first.


	8. Chapter 7 – Possibilities (Playing It Safe)

** Chapter 7 – Possibilities (Playing It Safe)  **

“I’m just standing in the doorway  
Trying to make some sense”  
\- The Rolling Stones – Waiting On A Friend

**England 1980**

Rupert wondered what his old man wanted, when it had been as long as it had since he’d last seen him. The last time had been just before they’d left that town where Tristan has been based, to take shelter in another one of Ethan’s damned fox-holes.

That had been two, or three years. It didn’t really matter which one it was, or even how long it had been, not really. In fact the only way in which it truly mattered was that it had proved that he didn’t need his father around after all.

He turned down another street, and kicked savagely at a half-full bottle of beer that someone had left standing near a doorstep. It flew several feet and hit the road with a hollow thud, and rolled for several more feet, spilling drink in a wavering line.

For that matter, he didn’t even really want his father around. It was easier to survive without looking over his shoulder every other day and wondering what the old man would think of his fucked up life. Why was he in town? What did he want? Rupert wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he wanted. How could it be anything good? 

He had never had much use for the Council. They were just another set of bloody people that hadn’t been around when he might have actually needed them for something. If they had been on his tail those five years ago like they were meant to be, then maybe the attack wouldn’t have happened. If the attack hadn’t happened, then he wouldn’t have had to find some dark quiet corner to lick his wounds and almost die in, and if that hadn’t happened then the rest of this sorry mess wouldn’t have, either.

And damn it, but the corners of his eyes were not _-not stinging, that you very bloody much._

He still would have renounced his home at some time, probably; but he would have been a lot better prepared to deal with things at that mythical later stage. He would have been more careful and surely wouldn’t have got himself into a situation where a fucking vampire would have had to nurse him back to health on its own filthy blood.

Then he could have avoided al the rest of this.

Lowering his head and tucking his hands into his pockets he still exuded a tangible aura of menace. Gods, but was it any wonder that he felt as fucked up as he did at times? His breathing was slightly ragged, and that sure as hell wasn’t from exertion either. If nothing else, then Ethan’s tutelage, if he could use the word, was keeping him in shape. 

Or maybe, considering his always-rocky relationship with the Council even before he had run, then he would have eventually sought Ethan out and gone to it of his own free will, with his head turned by stories of mayhem and violence. As little as he liked to consider that scenario, he couldn’t deny that there was definitely a part of him that had responded, and favourably at that, to the sounds and sights of terror and destruction.

These days the Council treated him like he was something akin to a half-wild, overly intelligent animal. Something to be tolerated because they had no choice but to work with him, and something that they had to tread warily around for fear of bringing devastation down on their own heads.

It would have actually been funny, that it would look to an outsider that he had the Council whipped, if it weren’t for the circumstances surrounding it.

He rounded another corner, turned into the cutting wind, and a woman who was making her way up the street crossed the road rather hurriedly, yellow streetlight throwing her edges into sharp relief and shadows across her face.

At least if he had gone to Ethan willingly, then he wouldn’t feel as violated as he did. He wouldn’t have wished it dead as often as he had. That thought was familiar ground. If it had been his choice had then he wouldn’t be living with the beast that had violated him right now, because that was what it came down. It had forced him, taken that choice from him, and he literally couldn’t live without it around. He didn’t think that he could ever be comfortable around it, after all of that. 

With a drawn-out sigh, he sped up his pace a little. He wasn’t sure where was going with all this self-analysis, but it wasn’t anywhere healthy, he knew that much.

Especially when the same thoughts had lad him down the same merry track, at least several dozen times before, and he couldn’t do a single fucking thing about it. The chance that his interaction with Deidre might be able to help him find a way out of this for him was a long shot at best.

At the next corner he paused, and did a few quick stretches. 

He could spend as much time as he wanted wondering what might have been if he had never been forced to submit to Ethan, or imagining a future of shared passion, violence and bloodshed, and willingly giving it his neck so that it might drain him to the point of death and then offer its wrist, but that didn’t change a single bloody thing that had happened.

After stretching he mentally calculated the distance left between here and where he was going. Another eight blocks, he thought.

Maybe if he ran it then it would be enough to stop him from thinking, at least temporarily. Or maybe he was deluding himself again.

He started to run, one foot in front of the other, arms swinging out wide, and tried to focus on nothing but the sound of his breathing and his feet slapping against the pavement, shockingly loud against the normal sounds of the night.

Loud. Rhythmic. Soothing. He’d always enjoyed the sounds and rhythm of running, had done so ever since he’d been seven and had made a spot on his primary school track team. As he’d grown older, and his build had become more muscular then he hadn’t been suited to sprinting, but he’d still handled distances with more ease than most.

He’d loved the way that he could use it to shut the world away. He still did.

He wasn’t even breathing heavily when he arrived at the address on the letter, and stopped, staring up at the place. 

It was a common enough looking London-edge townhouse, really; whitewashed walls and windows all the same size. But that was the way that the Council worked things; they would buy a place wherever they needed it and sign it into one person’s name, which helped prevent uninvited guests from dropping in.

It wasn’t like money was an issue when you had enough to feed several large African villages for the next ten generations, and then still have enough to buy several large planes, with change left over, or some shit like that. There were some books in the Council’s library that were worth more than the average car, and others that could have been sold for a month worth of board and food, if you could have found the right buyer. That was another thing. The Council always knew where to look, for the right buyer or seller.

He wondered if he mightn’t still have time to turn and run back, even as he undid the latch on the gate and started up the path which ran beside a garden that was heavily stocked with the herbs that came in handy for some of the more common spells. Moonlight made the leaves, and a single dew-coloured cobweb glow silvery.

No, he decided, as he mounted the stairs and raised a hand to the knocker. It was well past the time he could have headed in the opposite direction. 

He heisted as he felt the wards around the door tickling over his skin, accepting and recognizing something in him. Even though he had never been here before they knew that he held invitation, in the same limited way that a guard-dog would allow a friend to pass, and warn its master of an enemy. The wards recognized him, and the barrier wouldn’t bar him. That was something, at least. It was a bloody pain, needing a direct invitation before he could enter a place.

Finally he struck the knocker against the wooden door, and listened to the way that the sound echoed through the place. It was a few minutes before he heard the sounds of shuffling and the door was drawn open, to reveal a tired looking man who held a book in one hand. This wasn’t someone that he recognized.

“Who might you be?” the man brushed a few strands of grey out of his face.

Rupert shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. I’m here at Adrian’s… that is, Mr Giles’ invitation. Let me guess, you’re Council too?”

He sheepishly raised the book so that Rupert could ready the title, _Rites and Right of Passage: Dargan’s Guide to the Ghost Roads and Otherworld._

“I didn’t have a copy where we were, and there’s an influx trying to push through to the Ghost Roads. Need to be prepared for all eventualities, you know.” He stepped back and to the side, “Mr Giles will be back in around half an hour, it you wanted to…” he nodded towards the inside and Rupert nodded, stepping over the threshold, pulling a face as the closer wards stung his skin.

The man watched him closely, a flash of unease in his eyes as he saw the reaction.

“Sitting room is this way,” the man led the way down the passage and into a room at the end of the hallway.

Rupert took one step inside the room and froze as a girl who didn’t look any older that fourteen, with mousy brown hair, skin that held a light golden tan and an expression that was anything but timid, stood and took several stiff-legged steps towards him. Fine muscles rippled under her skin, and her dark blue eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t have been surprised had she started sniffing at the air near him.

“Let me guess. Well met, Slayer.”

“You… You have been stained by the darkness. You are a part of the shadow. Tell me; how did you pass the wards of a sanctuary?” her voice carried a trace of accent, something from Carolina he thought. She moved to place herself between him, and the bloke that he assumed was her Watcher.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt as threatened by her as he once had by Ethan. Perhaps even more threatened, because he knew that this girl would have no qualms about killing him. With that thought in mind he decided it might not be wise to aggravate her. His gaze flicked back to her Watcher behind her, and he gave the man what he hoped was a placating smile. 

“Sorry, where are my manners? I should have introduced myself at the door. I’m Rupert Giles, Adrian’s son.”

Instead of relaxing, the Slayer looked even more ready to tear a strip from him. The snarl she made in the back of her throat would have done Ethan proud, and he could read it in her eyes that she didn’t know what to think of him.

“They call you an abomination. The arguments that have been held about you…” she sighed and shook her head, “well I have never heard the likes of it before. Have you any idea how many of them still think that it is worth the risk to kill you?”

He laughed to himself, not trying to hide the bitterness in it, and sat down in the worn, black couch before replying. 

“I’d say most of them, probably.”

The Slayer didn’t sit back down, which wasn’t surprising. Her Watcher, James something-or-other if his memory was right, did though, unwilling to leave his Slayer alone with the likes of him.

“They say that you are destined to be the Watcher some day, not just one amongst the masses. So why do you choose to return to a monster’s side? You must know that such a thing can hold no part in your future.”

“Choice has little to do with the matter,” he said shortly.

“I am sorry?” he heard the question in it.

“A master’s command,” he said smoothly in Latin. His voice was low, but he knew that she had heard exactly what he’d said as her expression froze.

“But such a thing could only work in the first place with agreement. Why not simply renounce the declaration?”

“You don’t think that if it were that simple then I would have, girl?”

“You have no right to call me girl!” she drew herself up a little, and Rupert tried to act as though he were unimpressed.

“And you have no right to talk about matters that you don’t have the first fucking clue about,” he flicked back to Latin again, “A tie born of blood and natural power. What’s your response to that, then?”

“Impossible,” she breathed, after a long-drawn hesitation.

“Not impossible, I’m afraid,” a weary voice came from the doorway, and all three of them turned towards the doorway.

“Giles,” James whoever-the-hell-he-was sounded startled when he spoke, “I wasn’t expecting you back quite so soon.”

“Yet here I am, Edmondson,” Adrian’s voice held a chill that Rupert wasn’t sure he had ever heard before, “right on time. Now, I would very much appreciate if you and Elizabeth were to be on your way. I’m sure you’ve plenty to get on with.”

Rupert watched without making an effort to disguise his amusement as Edmondson stood and lowered his head in the deferring nod that a Council man gave to his superior, in spite of the fact that he was the one with a Slayer.

“Come along Elizabeth,” his gaze moved over Adrian with an equal chill, “Let us leave them to it.”

“Yes Sir.” 

She followed after her Watcher, master and teacher without questioning him, and Rupert found himself hating her unwavering obedience. How many Slayers had been killed because of that? The enemy was the person who was going to get you killed, no matter what fucking side he or she was meant to be on, and that was all there was to it. He wondered callously how long it would be before Elizabeth would be able to count Edmondson amongst her enemies. A demon would kill her, but there was no doubt that in the end the responsibility for her death would fall to Edmondson.

Then they were alone, facing one another. Adrian was staring down at him from the doorway, and Rupert was again doing his best not to show any emotion. Standing would, and did help with that. He crossed his arms, doing his best not to let the action seem defensive or offensive.

“Rupert,” Adrian nodded to him, “How are you doing?”

“Pray tell me how you think I’m doing? It takes me out to dinner and does everything that it can to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool. Never lets me starve or tries to…”

“Rupert.” Adrian cut him off sharply.

Rupert forced a smile, “There was a part of that I wasn’t kidding about, you know? It doesn’t …” _go out of its way to hide feeding from me. Never shy about dinner_. He bit the words back with extreme effort, able to picture exactly how that would have played out, “You know what? I get by. Never mind.”

“I do mind, though,” Adrian said softly, “I always worry about you. Circumstances don’t change that.”

“So that’s the reason why you’ve never phoned or written to me any time over the last three years, then? Because you care so bloody much? I’m up shit creek without a fucking boat, let alone a paddle, and obviously you know exactly where I am, but you still won’t throw me a line from the fucking riverbank, why? Oh, that’s right, because you care.”

“You’re right. I could have been in contact sooner. It is because I care for you that I was not.”

Rupert glared, “Let me tell you…”

“No, let me tell you something. Did you think it was easy to do what I had to do when you came home four years ago? Did you think that I celebrated you putting that damned choice into my hands; that either I stand aside and watch you die a slow, painful death, or I invite that thing in and watch you enveloped by a painful life? But at least it was a life. Where there’s life, then there’s always a chance.”

“Did you never think that I might have already made my own choice?”

“You did. It was a poor choice, but it was still a choice, still your choice. All that you left for me to do was try and pick up the bloody pieces. Inviting that thing into my home and then standing aside was the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do. You want a god-damned comparison? It was harder than watching your mother die. At least when that happened I still had a hope of keeping you safe. I promised your mother that I would protect you. So what choice should I have made? Tell me, should protecting you have truly meant your death, or was I right to make you live?!”

He was yelling, shaking, they both were, and they were toe to toe without Rupert remembering standing up or stalking closer. He could see tears at the corners of his father’s eyes and he knew that that look of anguish on his face, that feeling of betrayal which was so obvious must have mirrored his own.

Rupert took a few ragged breaths, “I didn’t want to die. But I didn’t want to live, either, not like that.” 

Adrian took a couple of steps forward, and reached out a hand. Rupert drew back, and stared until Adrian lowered it again. Rupert’s muscles were trembling, as though he were a cornered animal.

“Then tell me what I should have done, Rupert, when you still don’t know what you wanted. If you’ve decided that death is still preferable, then God spare my soul, and take pity on the future world, but I will make sure that it happens. If it is the last thing that I can do for you then I will.”

Rupert felt sick. He looked away, staring at the carpet between himself and his father, wrestling down the desire to run back out into the night. The last thing that he wanted was to say what he wanted, but he knew that his father would be able to read it in his expression. He didn’t want to die any more. Like the old man had said, life was an integral part of hope. He also knew that to do such a thing would kill his father, by slow degrees.

“Look,” Rupert drew another shuddering breath, “can we please just start tonight over?”

Everything about Adrian’s smile was forced, “Good evening, Rupert. How are you?”

Rupert matched it with his own equally false warmth, “Good evening father. I’m fine, thanks; never been better.”

He followed with his eyes as Adrian crossed the room to where a weapons trunk sat against the far wall. Rupert recognized the polished, carved mahogany box that his grandfather had made for his grandmother, and felt another stab of pain. When Adrian rose from his crouch he had a thin, cloth-wrapped package in one hand which he set to the side, before lifting something else out from the chest

“This was already yours.” Adrian gave him the cloth-wrapped object first, and Rupert flicked the covering aside to see the wooden knife under it, carved with delicate runes on the blade and crossed etched into the handle so that a vampire couldn’t hold it.

“Are you sure that you want me to have it again, after everything?” he held it with an obvious reluctance, not taking it out from its cloth nest.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Adrian looked at him again, and Rupert could see that he was fighting to keep pity his expression straight, “As for this, I had it commissioned when you first entered the Academy, to give to you on your twenty-first birthday. Took a couple of years to get it right, and have the charms that I wanted worked into it.”

“My twenty-first?” Rupert asked, hesitantly.

“Yes, I know it’s a couple of weeks late, but here it is.”

“I didn’t even realise,” Rupert’s voice was soft, “I suppose I must have lost track of time.”

He tore the paper off to reveal a black scabbard, and a beautiful silver-inlaid handle that had crosses worked into the design that was on it.

“Once you blood it then no-one will be able to handle it without your permission.”

Rupert startled, “You had a dominis imperio woven into it?”

“Yes. I thought it might come in handy for you. Now, I suppose you probably have to be getting back?” Adrian frowned.

He should probably say yes, and catch up with Deidre instead.

“No, I’ve got the night off.”

“Don’t suppose you’d like to perhaps stay and have a drink or two with me? Perhaps we could talk?”

“Only if that Slayer isn’t coming back. I got the impression that she was working out how hard it would be to stake me.”

“She isn’t going to be back. They have more important things to see to.”

“Thanks,” Rupert made himself sit back down, “in that case, I will”

He should be able to make himself play nice for one night.

**Sunnydale 1998**

The day had been a pretty normal one, really. Rupert thought that it made for a nice change after the last couple of weeks, what with the tension and the anxiety that had been ever-present since the new school year had started. It was rather amusing that all it had taken to make things normal again was a life-or-death situation.

 _It’s true_ he mused as he walked up the path to the house, _that there are no bonds forged quite like those that are forged by the apocalyptic_. He wondered how many others had discovered that fact in their lifetime. That most Watcher-Slayer pairings would have was a granted, but he truly had no idea how many others might have. He could probably count the number on a couple of hands at a stretch.

He unlocked the door, stepped over the threshold and closed the door locking it again behind him, then kicked off his boots and headed up the stairs. There were no demands on his time today, and in spite of a little restlessness he though he might crack a beer or several and try to relax. Maybe he would stretch out in the tub with a cheap paperback for a while.

But what he found when he got up the stairs put paid to that idea. Ethan wasn’t resting. Instead there was an open holdall on the bed that looked like it was fully packed, and Ethan was pacing, a look in its eyes that told him it was feeling like a caged animal.

“What’s going on?” Rupert stepped into the room.

Ethan glanced towards him, dismissed him with a flick of its head and carried on pacing with a slight growl.

“You’ve packed a bag and you’re just going to ignore me? Were you even going to tell me before you walked out, or was I just going to come back and find that you’d left for gods knew where?”

Ethan stopped pacing and looked towards him again, “I should have been out of here days ago, Rupert. With my blood in your veins, you can’t say that you haven’t been feeling restless as well.”

“I’d thought it just restlessness for the sake of… well, restless. What is it, then?” Rupert stepped towards it, and it brought its hands up to stop him at an arms length.

“People call it the Night of Saint Vigeous, although it doesn’t really need a name. The stars align to increase our strength and it creates frenzied state of being. The Hellmouth will only make it so much more potent. If you don’t want a massacre in this town, then I need to get out of here until after the night in question. The influence the stars have increases with age. I need a place where I can be what I am.”

Rupert shivered. He could do the mental translation of that easily enough. It needed a place where it could hunt, and there was no way that the feeding would stop at a few mouthfuls, either. He felt sickened by the thought and hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to stop it. He watched as Ethan licked at its top lip.

“I don’t know what the night will do to someone like you, since you’re still human. Probably not much more than what you’re feeling right now to a greater degree, and a thirst for violence. You should come with me as well, but I know that you won’t leave the Slayer.”

“No, I won’t.”

Ethan threw in a couple more items, brown-wrapped parcels that Rupert couldn’t identify and zipped the bag closed.

“Proximity to the Hellmouth shouldn’t do too much to you, either and I know that if it does go to your head, then it won’t be you in any danger,” it gave the words a chance to sink in, as it opened one of those bottles of blood-wine that it must have brought up from the basement earlier and took a deep drink.

He was sensitive to magic, had enough of Ethan’s blood in him to recognize the scent of a submissive and could certainly feel it when the Hellmouth got…well, prickly, for lack of a better word. Ethan was right, that if he lost his head then it really wouldn’t a danger to him. But even knowing all of that, “No,” he shook his head, “no, I’ll be fine. I need to stay here in case Buffy needs me.”

“Very well, then. You’ve made your call. I just hope for your sake that you won’t have any reason to regret it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated, unsure of whether he was stating a fact, or trying to convince himself of his words.

It looked at him, “I’m off as soon as the sun sets.”

He didn’t say anything else to it, as he left the room, leaving it to go back to its pacing. He wondered if the children were still at the school right now. Buffy and Xander had said something about getting so homework actually done before leaving, and Willow had been going to spend some time with Jenny, going over a few computer tricks. As for Cordelia, well, she helped on occasion, but she still very much had her own life.

He would head back and see if they were still around. He wouldn’t get any peace here today, and being alone with his own thoughts was never a good thing.

**XXX**

“So, any idea what it’ll be this week?” They had migrated to the café where they usually went to unwind. Xander spun his coffee by the handle and passed it from one hand to the other, “Are we due for a repeat of the invisible girls, or do we avoid the zoo again, or will it be something I’ve never seen before, like an invasion of midgets? I mean, I really don’t want to see last week’s jigsaw-puzzle woman again since it was kind of gross and sad, so it’d be kind of nice to know what to prep for, you know?”

Rupert took a sip of his drink and eyed Xander over the rim of his glass, wondering whether the boy had entirely finished. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had seemed to round off, only to start again the moment someone else opened their mouth.

Buffy took a sip of her mocha and half-shrugged, “Well, I haven’t been having any dreams about any of the above, but that doesn’t really seem to mean much when I never had any dreams about them in the first place, does it?” she sighed, “What I have been dreaming about is construction paper and punch.”

“Punch?” Xander asked, beating Rupert to it.

“Seriously, tell me how fair you think it is that I’ve been stuck with the whole Parent-Teacher night gig, and getting it ready on what will pretty much be my own, by the time it’s all said and done, what with who they paired me with. I mean, I know I’ve missed a few classes lately, but it was all in the name of saving the world. Or… various people in it. I should get some karmic break for that, shouldn’t I?” She looked at Rupert, as though hoping that he could overturn it.

“No point in appealing to me, I’m afraid. A librarian can’t do anything about the decisions that a principal makes. If you were the Slayer of a more normal Watcher then you wouldn’t be hanging around, though.”

“Good, how do I make you more normal?”

“Because,” he carried on as though she hadn’t said a thing, “you would already be flying off into the sunset with me to stop the next major threat from devouring a village or country. I may be many things but I’m afraid I shall never be a normal Watcher. I’m not sure you would like me if I were, either.”

“We already like you pretty well now,” Xander gave him that patent grin of his, that a person couldn’t help but smile back at, “and I’m not sure how good normal would look on you. It probably wouldn’t do much for your complexion.

Rupert took another sip of his drink, “It’s nice to hear such stunning reviews of my abnormality,” he made sure the teasing note in his voice was obvious.

“Nah, you’re not abnormal,” Xander spun his drink again. “You’re just unique.”

“Next verse, same as the first, different spelling?” Buffy looked at Xander.

“Cooler spelling, neater word,” Xander confirmed.

Rupert took a very large mouthful of his drink, all of a sudden feeling as though he needed it. He was working with teenagers. How on earth did he get himself into these sorts of things?

“You’ll get it done, Buffy,” Xander became a little more serious, “you can get anything done. This will be the best Parent-Teacher that Sunnydale High has ever seen even if I have to convince Willow to help you get ready for it down the back of the library. Come to think of it, it shouldn’t be that hard to make it better than last year’s.”

“No paint around the books, please. Some of them are worth more than your life is. What happened last year, anyway? I think I missed it by around a month,” Rupert asked.

“Wow, you actually sounded like a librarian there, Giles,” Buffy teased, “Rock and roll and leathers, and a secret love of book-bindings, is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He raised an eyebrow and grinned.

Xander shrugged, “They said it was caused by a leaking gas pipe, and of course it was covered up to their gosh-darn Sunnydale bestest, but the rumour was that some parent got so upset over their kid’s grades that they exploded.”

Buffy pulled a face, “I’m guessing that you don’t just mean ‘eruption of rage’ explosion either do you?”

Xander shook his head, “Wish I did. I always thought it was just a story, but after what I actually saw with my own two eyes last year I think there may have been some truth to it. Not that I really want there to be, even if I can think of a few people who could use a good blowing-up.”

“Xander, almost no-one deserves to be blown up, if only because of the mess that it must leave for people to clean up afterwards. Would you like to be stuck with a job such as that?”

“Okay, so I didn’t think of that side of things. But there are still a couple of people I might be willing to clean up after,” Xander kept his tone light, but Rupert could see the seriousness in his gaze.

“It’s the same for all of us at some stage in our lives, I think,” Rupert offered, before turning his attention back to Buffy, “so what else did you still have to do before the night, anyway?”

“I’ve got banners to paint and a hall to tidy up, then on the night itself there are tables to set up, people to keep an eye on, punch to brew and fingers that will probably remain crossed throughout all of this. Not that that will probably make much of a difference, but no harm in trying. Snyder said that he didn’t want a slap-together job, either, so that makes a difference to my non-existent free time, too.”

“Yes, I can see how it would,” Rupert finished off his drink and toyed with the idea of ordering another one, then decided what the hell. It wouldn’t hurt, would it? Picking up the empty bottle he took it up to the counter and got another one before returning to the table.

“So, again to my original point, is there anything coming up next week that we should know about?” Xander picked up his pie and took a bite out of it, “Like maybe something that will destroy the school which means there’s no point in getting ready for the night?”

“Now you’re stealing the words from my mouth,” Buffy admonished.

Rupert opened the new bottle and took a mouthful, “As a matter of fact, there is something coming up, but it isn’t due until Thursday night itself. Feast of Saint Vigeous. It’s a power-boost for vampires, triggered by an alignment of the stars. It’s named for a vampire that took advantage of it, and led a band into a town. They ahh… well, they slaughtered the whole town in one night.”

“Nice guys,” Buffy took a mouthful of her drink, while Xander finished off his snack, “and it’s on our night in question too, I see.”

Xander looked at him, “Power boost for vampires, huh?”

He answered the question inside the question, “Ethan’s leaving town tonight, will be back probably a couple of nights after.”

“Running and hiding. Well that’s always a good fallback. I vote we follow that plan.”

“I wish that it were that simple, but we have no idea what is being planed. Besides, being out of town isn’t going to help get this Parent-Teacher night ready, is it?”

“Although there’s another good mark in the ‘run away’ side of the column,” Buffy finished off her mocha, and nodded to Xander, “And with that, I should probably get going. I’ve got to draw up some lists for what I need to get sorted. At least it will give me a starting point.”

“Yes, quite,” Rupert gave her a smile, as she stood up and pushed in her chair “Well, I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”

“But you’re not volunteering yourself to help, are you?” she asked.

Rupert shook his head, and watched as she left, before turning back to Xander, turning a thought over in his head, “Well, I’m going to take the car back home and take a ride on the bike. I really need to stretch my legs, so to speak. I don’t suppose you’d care to come with me?”

Rupert watched as Xander’s face lit up for a few moments, before his expression fell, “I’d love to, but I’ve never been on one.”

“It’s easy enough and I’ve a spare helmet and jacket. All you’d need to do is sit and hold on to me.”

“That’d be cool. If you’re sure you want company, that is.”

“I wouldn’t have offered, otherwise.”

“In that case I’m in.”

“Good lad,” Rupert drunk the new bottle down in a single motion, and then stood, “Finish up, then. I’ll just pay, and I’ll meet you out at the car.”

It was right on sunset, so Ethan would be gone by the time he got there, so that was one less thing to worry about. His feet were itching to get moving.

_Restlessness and a hunger for violence. Sounds lovely._

He wondered how bad it would be on the night in question. Maybe he should lock the door and hide away in his house.

 

A.N - dominis imperio = master’s command, if I’m remembering rightly.


	9. Chapter 8 – Ashes to Ashes (We All Fall Down)

** Chapter 8 – Ashes to Ashes (We All Fall Down) **

“You’ve got to live this life you’re given   
Like it’s the only one you’ve got.”  
\- 3 Doors Down – It’s The Only One You’ve Got

**England 1980**

They had spent most of the night talking about those tiny, mundane things that no-one else would have bothered about, or cared to hear. Rupert had enjoyed the chance to put up his feet and not have to worry. Simply being himself without the mask of toughness that he had forced himself to adopt was a rare thing.

True to the promise he had made to himself, Rupert had kept his peace, and had made sure that he hadn’t said anything that could have been considered harsh or bitter. Having a reason to pretend that everything had been normal for a little while had taken a lot of weight off his mind. He had laughed at the stories of idiots who had slipped in through the ranks of the Council and some of the shit that some of the new recruits had got up to. There was always that moment, just after someone started training, and before they encountered what was truly out there in the darkness, where a person tended to fell that they were indestructible and untouchable.

Rupert had managed to turn a couple of his own experiences into jokes, and keep the bitterness out of his laugh. It had been five in the morning when he had finally said goodbye and left to go back to Ethan’s, his two parcels wrapped and at his side. 

The sun had just come up over the horizon by the time he let himself into the house and staggered up the stairs, shedding clothing as he went, to collapse face-first on the bed. It was only when he laughed into the pillow and then flipped onto his back, spreading his arms out that he realised he had the bed to himself. 

He was fairly sure that he would have known if Ethan was in any danger. As much as he liked to deny the bond that didn’t mean that it didn’t exist.

With one last burst of energy he finally managed to scramble under the covers, before he put his head down on the pillows again. So he wouldn’t see Ethan again until the sun had set. It had too much dignity to run around outside under a flaming blanket, and there was no spell he knew of that could make a vampire immune sunlight. He should be able to sleep well today, with the silent place to himself. Closing his eyes he fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was around three in the afternoon when he woke up and left the bed, driven downstairs by hunger. He didn’t bother to pull anything on, because what was the point? There was no-one and nothing here to hide his body from.

Quietly he padded along the hallway and out into the kitchen. There, he had to laugh to himself. How mundane, how normal was a note left stuck to the bloody fridge?

He pulled it off to read.

‘Back tomorrow night. Business to attend to.  
You know the rules, and you know that I’ll be able to tell whether you’ve followed instructions. Set the wards before you sleep, and keep studying too.’  
You know how to take care of yourself.’

Sure, that told him a hell of a lot, didn’t it? He balled the note up in his fist and lobbed it towards the bin, before he pulled the fridge open and pulled out some cold cuts and a beer. Probably technically far too early in the ‘morning’ to be drinking, but he found that he didn’t care.

Was this another test, like the last one that he’d failed spectacularly? There was no way of knowing until it got back and started bawling him out for what he’d fucked up on this time. At the memory of the knife touching his back, ghosting over it then digging in he shuddered.

A repeat performance of that was definitely something to be avoided, if it could be. He could think of plenty of better ways to spend his time, than being chained back to a bed and punished by a vampire.

Still, if he did have a couple of days… nights… whatever, then he wouldn’t ever get a better opportunity to start pulling his shit together. He wouldn’t have to try and go around behind Ethan’s back, or worry about deadlines and curfews.

He threw the meat between a couple pieces of bread, twisted the top off the beer with his teeth and ate where he was standing, before turning down the hall to the bathroom. A quick shower, then he would get dressed. Then maybe he would be able to track Deidre down, and get down to serious work.

His problem wasn’t exactly going to solve itself.

He took a mouthful of the beer, then put the bottle down on the side of the tub and lifted a leg to step in, pausing as he caught sight of this own reflection. 

There were bruises in varying shades from yellow to purple, scars, and muscle under the taunt skin. He could recognize fist-marks and fingermarks, and the pattern of the various slaps that he’d been given over the last few days even though it didn’t strike him half as often as it once had. He supposed that he didn’t annoy it as much as he once had. He certainly didn’t try to. He was no sadist after all. It was just that keeping his head down wasn’t always easy.

His gaze flicked over his reflection, from the most recent blow he’d taken to the bite-scars. From the one on his neck near the pulse-point, to those slighter ones which were closer to his chest. That deep bite which was high on his right shoulder really stood out, and the few on his arms weren’t much more than scratches and the ones on his thighs were too low for him to see in this mirror.

_“I took you from the house just over a month ago… I’ve been nursing you on my own blood, a little every evening.”_

How careful must it have been to not push his body too far over that time? How carefully must it have monitored him, taking note of every quickening and slowing of his heart, to keep him alive?

He finished stepping into the tub and turned up the water to full pressure and the hottest that he could stand, then took another mouthful of his drink and stood directly under the stream of water with his head tilted back, to let the water pour his neck and fall on his face, tiny drops that stung briefly then ran away.

Okay, so why had it bothered keeping him alive? Because it liked his soul? What a big fucking joke that was. It hadn’t even known him then. Apart from it had, hadn’t it? It had secured a place that was near where he’d grown up so that it could keep an eye on him. Because they were linked by a fault of deep magick? It still would have been easier for it to turn him. Maybe it didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary with a fifteen year old around. The demon that moved in drew from the memories of the human host, after all.

Maybe it simply wanted him able to protect himself after it did eventually turn him. That would make a lot more sense than any of the rest of it, especially with that bond of deep magick. There was no questioning whether that was real, not any more. He had felt enough to know that the gods did indeed have a twisted sense of humour.

He stood under the shower until it began to run cold, then finally shut it off, towelled himself dry and headed back upstairs to get dressed.

Twenty minutes later he was back downstairs and heading out the door, wondering how the hell he was meant to track down a Potential who had stayed both hidden and alive for around a year.

But then, he knew how to track. It was one of the first exercises that Ethan had made him repeat while threatening an innocent. It had pushed him hard, and made him learn all he could. The first few times he had come scarily close to losing the game, too.

His feet carried him automatically back to the alleyway where he had met Deidre. The filth here wasn’t an illusion that faded with a second glance, and the smell was ripe after the heat of the day that he’d just slept through. Half closing his eyes he breathed deeply, remembering, and began to trace the route that they had walked to the point where she had left him, following a silvery ghost-like shadow.

That point was where things got fun. He focused on his breathing and the rhythmic thud of his heart as he lowered himself further into the trance-state, using the sounds of the streets themselves to go further under, until he reached that spot where he was only just aware of what his body was doing, and the movements of that silvery, fragmented ghost which he was chasing.

There was barely enough awareness left for him to avoid traffic, yet he still managed to, as he followed that trace of silver back along the way he’d just come. It diverged a few blocks from the alleyway where he had met her.

The sounds of life around him, from the people to traffic, to the rebels and peacekeepers, were muffled as he moved down the streets with no regard for himself or for anyone who got in his way.

She was so close that he could practically feel it, could taste it on the air. He could imagine himself falling on her neck and tearing it open, the image painted in colours that were brighter than bright, by the magick that was and always would be a part of him. It wanted what it wanted, and it wanted what he wanted, and edged on by Ethan’s blood in him all that he could see was himself naked and stained in red, head tilted back as he bathed in her blood. He could feel her heartbeat as it sped then stuttered and stalled under his attentions.

He reached out to stop himself, sweating with the effort that it took because she was only a block or so away at the most. He drove his fingernails into the palms of his hands until he cut into the flesh, and the pain was enough to pull him out of that trance-state and bring him back to the real world.

He focused on the slim lines of red and his stinging palm until he was sure that he was in control of himself again, before he opened himself up a little more to the magic around, to get a more accurate idea of where she was. Then he closed himself down completely, and headed in the direction that he’d got the strongest sense of her from.

Two blocks down, and half a block that way. 

Around here there was peeling paint and broken windows and doors, and grime that hadn’t been shifted in years. There was graffiti on the buildings and broken glass and other trash in the gutters and on the road. The only cars were rusting hulks, which were held together with a hope and a prayer, and probably ran on the smell of an oily rag because the owners couldn’t afford to buy any more fuel than that.

A pair of half-cast boys who couldn’t have been any older than seven kicked a ball back and forth in the middle of the street, with a pair of beer crates set up on either side as goals. They wore shorts that had seen better years, and tee-shirts that were torn around the bottom, but they still looked like they were enjoying themselves.

The place where Deidre was holed up seemed obvious as well. There was only one place on the entire street that was warded and shielded from both malevolent and curious magic. She’d done quite a good job of it, too. If he hadn’t known exactly what he had been looking for, then there was no way that he would have noticed it. He strode up to the building, acting like he owned the fucking street, and opened the door to let himself into the common hallway of the building. Even at that distance he could feel her warding tickle over his skin.

The building had three floors, and most of the rooms looked empty. Common sense guided him to the top floor, where the best view was. The room on the right side of the hallway had the door torn off the hinges, but the door to the left had another layer of warding wrapped around it, and the door was very secure.

He strode over and rapped on the door, knowing that she would feel his presence as much as hear the sound. Then, leaning against the wall to the side he settled himself in for a wait.

It was fifteen minutes before Deidre opened the door. She didn’t step over the threshold. She was far too intelligent for that. Instead she looked to one side, then the other, keeping herself away from the threshold. Spotting him she froze, and the only thing or person he had ever seen look more pissed off at any stage of his life was Ethan.

“How the fuck did you find me? If I find out that you’ve led anyone else here out of your fucking stupidity, then I’ll do a damn sight more than just cave your stupid little skull in.”

“I swear I’m clean. No one followed, and the only reason that I could find you was because I knew what I was looking for. I started learning tracking three, four years ago, and with what you are, and what I am…”

“Yes, I get the bloody point, Ripper.” She cut him off, “Still doesn’t mean that I’m impressed, though. I don’t care how careful you think you were. If you’ve done anything to compromise my position then I will make you suffer.”

“Strangely enough I don’t doubt that either.”

“Good, because you bloody well shouldn’t,” she hissed, “Where the hell were you the other day anyway?”

“I…ah,” he looked uncomfortable, “I wasn’t in much of a state to do much of anything, I’m afraid,”

“So the only hope I might have for getting the Council permanently off my back is a useless wastrel? I should have fucking known it. You can bloody well clear off. If that’s the type you are, then I’m better off without you around. Saw enough of that with my useless bloody father, thank-you very much, and my life will not be another one of those things that someone gets to throw away.”

She raised a hand and grasped the door to slam it in his face, and he lunged forward without thinking only to be stopped dead by the barrier. How useful was he, when he couldn’t even reach a door to stop it slamming, let alone kick it in?

“Wait, it’s not like that.”

She had already frozen, staring at him. Or rather, staring at the point where he’d stopped. Well, a give-away couldn’t get any more dead obvious than that.

“Jesus. What the fuck are you?” she said it as barely more than a whisper.

“It’s day out. I’m human,” he crossed his arms and leaned against the barrier, enjoying the effect of leaning against thin solid air, in spite of himself, “just as human as you. It’s just that there are a few complications.”

“Maybe you’d better come in and talk.”

He didn’t have a chance to brace himself, instead falling straight through where the barrier had been, to land on the heavily on the floor just inside her door. She had stepped back so that he had his nose to her toe. Rolling his eyes at her shoes he pulled himself back to his feet, and after he was standing again she stepped past him and closed the door.

“Now, I think there might just be something that you neglected to tell me, mightn’t there?”

He considered several explanations he might have used, from a spell gone wrong to a curse cast several years ago. It was far too early to bring Deidre into the complications of his life. But she was already a part of it wasn’t she?

“I’m bound to a vampire.”

He hadn’t been expecting her to begin laughing, “Oh, that’s rich. Ripper the rebel-type, bonded to a vampire, wants to help a Potential get rid of the Council. What the hell were you going to do, feed me to your lover? A nice, permanent solution?”

“Believe me, if I wanted you dead then I’d have already done it. No, I need your help just as much as you need mine.”

“What the hell does something like you need my help with? As far as I’m concerned you’re no better than the thing you’re sleeping with. Was she pretty, Giles? Did she make sweet noises when she let you fuck her? Did she promise you the world and everything that’s beneath it? How long did it take for you to get sick of the shell you got yourself wedged in?”

So that was where that anger of his had gone. He narrowed his eyes and balled his fists, “If you think he asked nicely and gave me a fucking choice, then tell me what fucking planet you’re living on? Did that ancient Chaos Lord give your lovely ancestor a choice? Do you think it asked nicely before turning her or did it manipulate her so that she fell into its claws?”

“What the hell does that beast have to do with any of this?”

“Oh, go ahead and use that useless lump of flesh in your skull. Why the hell do you think I brought Ethan up? Why did you think I said I might be able to get you to it, if you helped me with a problem of mine? Ethan is my fucking problem, that and the thrice-damned bloody bond that it forced me into. I need a way to break the bond and then I’m more than happy to help you kill it.”

“Yet if what I’ve read of bonding is true, then all I’d need to do to kill it right now, is kill you.”

“Did you want to try?” 

He moved instantly into a fighting stance, light on his feet and ready for anything. She looked him up and down and then shook her head slowly.

“I don’t doubt that I could take you, but it would probably be a slow, painful process.”

Rupert laughed, “I doubt that you could. I’ve been taught to fight since I was sixteen, sweetheart, and it’s not often that my teacher fought cleanly. Besides, I’d say I’m a more skilled magician than you. This warding that you’ve got up is well woven, I’ll give you that, but I can tell by the way it feels that it’s not yours.”

She frowned, “Not many people would be able to tell that.”

“Well, there you go then. I’m not many people.”

She laughed, and the sound, a sudden burst of noise, almost made him jump, “Modest, too.”

“No, just honest.”

Her smile vanished as quickly as it had reappeared, and she walked through to what must have been her sitting room-come study, a sparse space with a single chair and foot stool, lined with bookshelves on one wall and windows on the other that gave her a clear line of sight down to the street.

“Impressive collection, considering your circumstances.”

She looked at him like she had forgotten that he was there, “It’s enough to get the job done. If I’m lucky, then a lot of these things will try to kill me throughout my life, so I have to know about them. If I’m unlucky, then one of the first ones will probably succeed. But if I know what I can cut a deal with, what I’ll be able to run from, and what I won’t have any choice but to stand against…” she let the silence finish her statement. Then she took a few paces back, so that she could look at all the books, “Anyway, what you need is something that has some sort of mastery over death, and the dead, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but anything I can think of with that sort of power is also far too powerful to notice the likes of me.”

**Sunnydale 1998**

Thursday morning had been crisp and clear. If the way that Rupert was feeling like now was any indication, then locking himself inside today would actually be a good idea. He could feel his temper just under the surface, and he felt like he would be able to run or fight for hours without tiring. He could also hear a conversation that was over the far side of the library, which wasn’t something that he had expected.

All this, and the stars weren’t even in place yet. He was fascinated by the thought of how far it would go once they were, yet he dreaded it.

Several people had already caught the rough side of his temper for tiny things that wouldn’t have normally got under his skin, such as talking too loudly or bringing back books late. One girl had obviously been in shock, yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel any more than frustration with her.

“Hey, G-Man.”

He spun from the shelf that he was stacking books on, eyes narrowed, “What have I told you about calling me by such a childish misnomer?” So he was trying to pick a fight. Someone could sue him, for all he cared today.

Xander backed off, looking startled, “Geeze. You sure got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best person to try and pick a fight with.

“I’ve been irritable since I woke up,” he offered by way of explanation. He may have been in the wrong, but he wasn’t going to apologise to anyone, “It’s this bloody star alignment, is all. I’ll be back to my old self tomorrow. It’s calling what blood of Ethan’s that I carry to the surface. He’s powerful, and its blood is strong, to say the least.”

“See. This is what happens when you go sharing you blood with others. That’s why people put up all the flyers about it.”

Rupert managed a weak smile, “Is it really?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be for any mundane reason, would it?” Xander frowned, “So, if it’s doing this to you, and you’re just a regular ol’ London-town boy, then do you have any idea what it’s doing to them?”

“Nothing good for us, I’ll tell you that for free,” he drew in a deep breath, and almost stopped breathing. He knew it was just another side-effect of enhanced senses, but Xander smelt well, _good._ That was the only word for it. _Nothing good for us_ may have been an understatement. If another monster out there got close enough to smell him, then there was bound to be trouble. A proper vampire wouldn’t even have to get that close.

Well there was nothing else for it. He would have to keep a close eye on the boy until the insanity had passed. He would have to see him home when he was ready to leave, and stay around him here to keep an eye on things. Or even keep him in here.

“Did you just growl?” Xander looked at him curiously.

“It’s possible,” Rupert allowed.

“So, that’s a regular Vigeous side-effect, too?”

“I’ve no idea,” he muttered, turning over ideas of how to keep the boy close without telling him anything.

“Huh?”

“It only happens once every few centuries. I’ve never been through it before, and there’s a high chance that I won’t be human myself come the next one.”

“Oh,” Xander scratched the side of his head, “that makes sense.”

He could only think of one way to do this that would be subtle enough to work.

“Did you have any plans?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Well, there’s a lot to be done; research, idiots to deal with, books that have to be shelved, and stakes to be whittled. I can take care of the research, but I’d appreciate a hand with the rest of it. Especially as it’s likely that if I keep talking to people the way I have been, there’s a chance I’ll find myself fired by this time tomorrow.”

“Idiots to deal, with, huh?” Xander raised an eyebrow and looked amused at the way he’d put it.

“Well, that part of things is only for another half-hour or so. I…I could give you a little cash for it if you wanted. I’m not always sure this job is worth keeping, but it would be an inconvenience to have to pack up all my books for removal, to say the least, and it’s handy to be working at Buffy’s school.”

“I’ll do it even without the bribe, G…iles. You’re not that bad to hang out with.”

He laughed, “You may be revising that opinion by the end of the day.”

Over the next half-hour, before the school closed to set up for Parent-Teacher Interviews another four people found their way into the library, one to return books and the other three looking for other titles. It showed how observant Xander was, that he could already guide people to the right shelves without missing a beat, while Rupert himself hid in the office watching through the window and not talking to anyone.

When the constant low murmur of conversation that had been increasingly on the edges of his perception all day finally stopped for the moment he was grateful. The fact that he knew it would only be another couple of hours before the buzz of pissed off parents and reluctant students took its place meant that he appreciated it that much more.

Xander pushed the office door open some ten minutes after the last person had left, 

“Well, I think that’s the last of them.”

“I know it is.”

“Again I’m reduced to saying ‘huh?’”

“The only voices I can hear are coming from the hall and the teacher’s lounge.”

“You can hear that far?” Xander looked impressed.

“Not specifics. Or, not yet at any rate. But certainly enough to know that there are people there. In a couple of hours it’s dusk. I can feel the sun burning outside, and around an hour after that the stars settle into position. By then it may well be a different story.”

Xander sat it the chair in front of his desk, tugging that loose Hawaiian of his down so that it was straight, “So, how long until it passes?”

“The stars hold position for somewhere near four hours, before then begin moving apart. Someone like me, I felt it starting to build a few days out, so I’ll probably feel the fringe effects for another couple of days. Something as old as Ethan probably felt it a week out. I…I as far as a regular vampire is concerned, I honestly have no idea. Probably depends on both age and power. There have been complete idiots that have managed to survive for a couple of centuries, after all.”

Reaching under the desk he grabbed out a bottle of whiskey and a shot-glass, “One-time offer. Did you want a nip?”

_The stars flashed over Xander’s head, although he couldn’t see them unless he tilted his head back and to the side, although he had no intention of doing that at the moment. Instead, he tightened his grasp around Rupert’s waist and rested his head against the back of his shoulder, eyes darting from side to side as he felt the wind tugging at the leather jacket that Rupert had lent him for the ride. He could feel the speed and power of the bike as they crossed the centre line to pass a couple of cars, then passed the next one on the other side simply for the sake of it._

_He was well over his fears, that he would fall off, that he would make too much drag and slow things down, that he would make a wrong move and send the both of them tumbling painfully to meet the hard road below. They were well away from Sunnydale, and climbing into the surrounding country, and Rupert had stopped only once, probably an hour ago by now to ask whether Xander had a time he had to be home by._

_He had come to realize already, that this was about trust, and he did trust Rupert._

_He trusted him not cave their heads in against the curb, and he trusted him do what he could to keep him safe when they went up against things that could snap his neck like a twig. He just didn’t trust him with the story of his life, although he knew that it could have been a lot worse._

_His butt was feeling numb when Rupert finally stopped, in what must have been the middle of nowhere, at a rest area on the top of a hill with a massive spreading oak growing by a picnic table. Rupert kept the bike up while Xander carefully got off and staggered the couple of steps that were separating him from the seat near the table, on legs that hadn’t ever felt like that before._

_Kicking the stand down, he crossed over to sit at the table next to Xander, pulling his helmet off. Feeling slightly sheepish Xander did the same._

_“Keep the jacket and pants on. You’ll be freezing if you strip those off.”_

_“Sure, I knew that,” Xander re-did the buckle that he’d just loosened on the jacket, “So, what is this place?”_

_Rupert placed his helmet on the table and then went back to the bike to grab the small pack that he’d strapped to the back, the only sounds around them the natural noises of the night, the ticking of the bike’s engine cooling and leather brushing against leather. Grabbing the bag he came back to the table and sat down beside Xander._

_“I don’t know, and I don’t care. All that matters is that it’s steeped in natural magick, and I happen to find the feel of it quite soothing.”_

_“Mmm. There is something that’s peaceful about out here.”_

_Xander watched as Rupert pulled a six-pack out of the bag and pulled two of them free._

_“Care for one?”_

_His parents were always trying to get him to loosen up. ‘Just one, Xander.’ ’One won’t hurt you.’ But this was different. He trusted Rupert._

_“Sure, I’d be into that.”_

_Rupert cracked both bottles with an opener that was attached to his keys, and passed the other one over. Xander took a sip of it and rolled the flavour around on his tongue before swallowing, and taking a deep breath of the crisp, cool air, drinking in the feeling of peace that seemed to leach into his bones._

“Sure. And there’s another thing. Any idea what your friend will be getting up to tonight?”

Rupert sighed to himself as he poured out a couple of shots, and knock his back in one movement, before twisting the cap back onto the bottle.

“In an ideal world Ethan would be hunkering down and waiting the night out.”

“So, in the real world?”

“In the real world, it’s probably best that I pretend not to know.”

“That bad, huh?” Xander took a sip from his shot, and then threw the rest of it back, wincing at the burn.

“Yes.”

He caught the look that Xander gave him, a look that said _one of these days we’re going to talk,_ and he didn’t doubt it. One of these day he might well be in a position to explain Ethan to him. One of these days he might even explain to the boy why he was protective over him. However, for now it was still best for all concerned that Xander didn’t know.

Leaving the bottle out, he went into the book cage, where he kept a few knives and a couple of boxes of doweling, which he carried through to the office. Sitting the box down on top of the desk he went back around to his side and sat back down, poured another shot and grabbed one of the knives.

“So, this thing kicks off in about three hours, right?” Xander grabbed the other knife, and one of the pieces of wood, and sat the point of the knife against the wood about ten centimetres from the end.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What’s the bet some tall, fanged creeps decide that the High School looks like an ‘all-you-can-eat’ buffet?”

“I’d put money on it.”

“Damn. Because you see, if you’d said that you wouldn’t, then I’d have bet against you.”

“This, from the person who refused my bribe earlier on?”

“Okay, so you’ve got me there.”

**XXX**

They spent a couple of hours working and talking to one another, mild, inane chatter that Rupert found came easier to him than he’d thought it would. Both Willow and Cordelia had come in, in the last half-hour, promoting a move from the comfort and privacy of his office, to one of the main tables outside.

“So, how is Buffy’s set-up looking?” Xander asked, as the school opened again, and parents began coming in.

“It’s looking really good,” Willow put another sharpened stake back into the box, and straightened up, “all the banners are in place, all the painting on them is inside the lines, the teachers have their tables and chairs set up. The only thing to avoid is the lemonade, and Snyder, who I don’t think is physically capable of being satisfied with anything,” she gave Rupert a quick glance, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for, not to me at least. The only reason he got the job was because there were no other applicants, and those who are unsure of their power often find it necessary to take out their unease on those around them, never mind whether it makes then popular or not. Cowards are often abrasive people.”

When things kicked off, an hour and a half later, just as the last of the interviews were finishing, they did so with not a bang, but the familiar sound of shattering glass. Willow and Cordelia, who had gone to check on things in the hall bolted past the door, and the only way that he could stop Xander from taking off after them, was by grapping his arm and holding him until he’d stopped fighting tooth and claw to get away.

When the boy looked at his face he froze, as though he’d been sucker-punched.

“Fuck. Your eyes.”

Even as Xander stopped fighting against his grasp, Rupert didn’t loosen his hand in case it was some form of ploy.

“What about my eyes?”

“Have you seen your own reflection? Or won’t you be able to for the next few hours?”

“Get to the point,” his grasp tightened, and he saw the touch of pain that spread into the boy’s expression. He was also aware that his voice was a growl again. 

Flicking his tongue up over his teeth which that had been aching for the last half hour he found then slightly elongated. His head was aching in that distant way which told him a migraine was building. The only thing that settled him even slightly was the way that Xander smelt to his temporarily over-developed senses, and he wasn’t actually sure whether that was the right word.

The lights went out.

“There are these flecks of amber through them, and when you’re in the shadows like you are now, there’s definitely some eye-shine happening. It’s way creepy.”

Letting go of the boy he started to pace, making sure that he was only taking the shallowest of breaths. He could hear the pack that had invaded moving through the school, hunting those that hadn’t already escaped. He wanted to be out there, fighting tooth and magic and claw against those that had dared to cross onto his territory. He wanted to kill those that were hunting what was his prey, and he wanted to be hunting the humans himself. He wanted to tear their throats open with his teeth, which was something that the rational part of his mind said wasn’t a good idea.

He also had to get the stakes that they’d prepared over to Buffy, but there was no way of doing that without leaving Xander, or taking him out there with him and he wasn’t going to leave the boy to his own devices any more than he was going to take him out amongst a pack. 

He didn’t feel much like a Watcher at the moment.

It was a relief when Buffy came down through the ceiling and stashed the stakes that they had made up around her body. She didn’t say anything about his eyes, but he caught the way that she hesitated before leaving to go back up into the ceiling.

Twenty minutes later Xander was getting restless. He could practically smell it in the air, like the way that he could smell the blood on it, and the ashes of vampires that Buffy must have already dusted.

“Look, Giles, if Buffy and the others can be out there then I can make a break for it and get us some help. I know I can do it.”

Xander had already said this at least four times in the last ten minutes, and Rupert had simply ignored it for the stupidity that he felt it was.

“I know that your friend isn’t around, but Angel is a vampire, even if it does have a soul. It would be able to fight on the same level as these things,” he saw the determination and realized that the boy actually meant to do it, “So, are you going to wish me luck?”

He acted on pure instinct, fingers curling around the boy’s throat as he slammed him back towards the wall, a mockery of something that Ethan might have done to him. He could smell the spilled blood somewhere outside, and what was racing just beneath the surface of the boy’s skin, and that in itself, was rather intoxicating. There was no doubt about the growl in his voice this time, “Absolutely not. You will fucking well do as I say, for once in your damned life. You go out there over my dead bloody body, and if you try to make it happen then I won’t be held responsible for my own actions.”

He could have snapped his neck like a twig, and they both knew it. With an extreme struggle of will, he made himself loosen his grasp, and only then did he see the look of betrayal in Xander’s expression. In those few brief moments he truly felt like a monster, but he still had to drive the point home.

“I know it doesn’t set things right, but I’m sorry. The point still stands, though, that I could tear you head off your shoulders with my bare hands. There is no telling what a real vampire could do, would do to you. You would be the dinner and drink, and entertainment rolled up into one convenient package. Buffy doesn’t need to be worrying about you, either. She has more than enough to deal with at the moment.”

Xander slunk away from him, not taking his eyes off him as he made his way towards the far side of the library, and moved a chair into a corner, so that he could sit with his back to the wall.

“Look, Xander, I…”

“I get your point. Kind of just want you to shut up, right about now.”

Rupert fell silent.

 _Talk about screwing up_ he berated himself, silently. He probably couldn’t have fucked up much worse if he’d scripted it. The boy was skittish and flighty about some things, with bursts of incredible confidence and goodwill, a hell of a stubborn streak, and the occasional stupid idea. He was especially skittish around friendships, and to do something like that when he’d been starting to win his trust wasn’t good.

“Oh, yes Rupert, good bloody show. You do know how to dig yourself into a hole,” Rupert spoke softly to himself, as he sat down to wait it out.

It was another thirty minutes before Buffy came in to give them the all clear, and the only drama in all that time was the waiting. As soon as he found out that it was safe to leave he crossed the room without giving Rupert another look, a certain coldness in the way that he moved. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he still wasn’t going to let him go out there alone.

“Buffy, can you catch up to him and make sure that he gets home safely? Maybe get your mother to give him a ride on the way back to yours.”

“But I thought that…”

“Please? I…I…I’ve a few things to take care of, and I don’t particularly want him, or any of you for that matter, walking alone before the stars have started to move apart, and that won’t be for another few hours.”

“What about you?”

I’ll be fine. I can handle myself.”

_Why shouldn’t I be? It’s not like I’m all that different from those monsters out there, after all._

“Okay.”

She turned and left, hurrying to catch up with Xander. He stood, watching through the window as she caught up to Xander, and after a few moments of heated debate Xander gave in and nodded, falling into step beside her.

Rupert waited until they were out of the building before he grabbed his leather bike jacket and tugged it on, tossed the whiskey bottle into his bag, and shoved his flick-knife into the jacket pocket. He stepped into the leather pants and tugged them up, zipping and buckling them over his jeans and tucked his helmet under his arm. He put the helmet on the back of the bike alongside the spare, and swung himself on without a second thought.

The darkness within him, the monster that had thought it a good idea to use threat to get what he wanted still wanted blood. Fear didn’t sate it in the slightest, and he could smell that sweet metallic scent even more clearly out in the car park. He didn’t just want blood either, he wanted to be the one to spill it, wanted to join in the blood-feast and feed the beast that was as much a part of him as his magic was.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” he whispered to the darkness, and tilted his head to one side as though waiting for a reply.

Only silence answered. Kicking the stand up, he shoved the key into the ignition and twisted it, before revving the bike and taking off. If he crashed headfirst into an unmovable object, then the worms were welcome to him for all he cared at the moment.


	10. Chapter 9 – Of Men and Monsters (The Animal Within)

** Chapter 9 – Of Men and Monsters (The Animal Within)  **

“There’s something different in the way you smile  
Behind those eyes you lie.”  
\- 3 Doors Down – Behind Those Eyes

**England 1980**

Deidre hadn’t moved from her spot in front of the bookshelves for the last fifteen minutes. Rupert was surprised how quickly she had gone from contemplating how difficult it would be to kill him, to trying to wrap her head around his problem.

“I think it’s tricky, but not impossible. How long did you say it had been alive? Or, not alive, so much as… well, you know what I mean.”

Rupert had sat down after the first five minutes.

“Something like three millennia.”

“It’s pretty powerful then, too.”

“Powerful, animalistic, deadly and intelligent. Tends to avoid killing when it feeds, at least these days. That probably has a lot to do with how it’s flown under the radar for as long as it has.”

“Rupert,” she looked back at him, “do you even know what you’re doing?”

“So far as I was aware I wasn’t doing much more that talking.”

“You sound as though you’re trying to justify yourself,” she turned back to her perusal of the shelves, “That’s something that you don’t need to do.”

“Why shouldn’t I have to, though? Considering I almost gave up and rolled over like a good little dog,” his voice became bitter on the last few words.

“It’s intelligent. It’s obviously a hell of a lot more intelligent than you or I. I don’t think it asked nicely as you put it, either.”

Rupert snorted, and she turned to look at him again.

“What, Rupert?”

“Well, for a vampire, it probably did ask nicely, actually.”

“Oh.”

She took a couple of steps towards the bookshelf, and ran her finger over a couple of spines, then pulled one out a little way, “Did you try Salve’s Treaquis?”

“Name me one Council family that probably doesn’t have that title on the shelf.”

She pushed it back in.

“So, you want something that is powerful so probably something older than it, but not too powerful, or either we won’t be able to control the power behind it, or the thing manipulating the power behind it. The gods wouldn’t take any notice either; I’ll give you that one as well.”

“It’s a disciple of Janus. Gods are more likely to take notice of it.”

“Hmm. Maybe… just maybe you’re going about this the wrong way. Something that’s powerful, which you can control. But… just maybe,” she pulled out another book, and stared at the cover of it. Rupert couldn’t see the title from his seat, “Maybe you don’t have to control it. Perhaps you could make a deal, instead.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Perhaps,” she threw the book over to him, and he snatched it out of the air, “you could make a deal with a demon. A sort of ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine’ thing. That way you’ve got power on call, and you don’t have to worry about finesse or control.”

He looked down at the book that he was holding. It was bound with thin leather that had been dyed black, and there was no title on it, but Rupert still recognized it for what it was. Thandor’s Mastery was one of the oldest grimores known. It was a book that a lot of people would have killed to get a hold of. In certain circles it was infamous, and here it was in his lap. He wondered how much the Council would be willing to pay to get it back, or whether they had another one of the three copies that were rumoured to be in existence.

The leather was far too thin, too delicate to have come from any animal that he knew, apart from one.

It was said to contain summons for some of the most powerful demons to touch this realm, some of them written in the blood of the demons themselves, or written in the caster’s blood for added potency. It was easy to believe, with the way that the book felt, too. It was heavy, like it contained the knowledge of hundreds of worlds, and it almost seemed to hum in his grasp.

“That’s all well and good,” he fought to keep his tone calm, “but it is a demon itself. What demon would have power enough to control it that might accept a deal from a human?”

“Lothos, for one.”

“The King Vampire?” he kept himself from scoffing.

“It’s not a vampire, though. It’s simply a King of Vampires. Rumour has it that it can manipulate any vampire that it wants to.”

“Ever heard any more than rumour about it? Perhaps there are a few drops of its blood in this, or what it likes for lunch?”

Slowly she shook her head, “Balthazar?”

“Powerful, but wouldn’t be interested. Also, dead, last I heard, although for some demons that’s like no more that a step out to change clothing. What about Mary DeBussie?” he bounced back, feeling excited for the first time in ages. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought of something like this before, when it seemed so obvious, now.

“DeBussie can only control females. Kathnar?”

“Too powerful and more than a little insane. Kathnar would be able to do it, sure, but then I doubt there would be enough pieces of us left to pick up the pieces of London that it left behind.”

“Eucarrus?” Deidre suggested.

“I’m not sure that I’ve heard of Eucarrus,” Rupert finally admitted, after trying to slot the name to some of the countless facts that he had memorised.

“Sorry. Common name is Eyghon.”

“The Sleepwalker?” This time Rupert couldn’t keep the derision out of his tone.

“Don’t knock it before you think about it,” Deidre pulled the footstool back and sat down on it, “Sleepwalker isn’t just a master of normal sleep, but the deepest sleep; namely death. Our vampire is dead, isn’t it? Maybe something like it would be able to sever the bond. It’s weaker than a lot of those higher-level demons, too. It would probably more readily accept a deal. You would have to set free anything that you used, to walk upon this earth, but with something that’s weaker, well, relatively speaking of course, the damage should be easier to contain.”

Silently he thought about it. It was scary how much sense that made. A beast such as Eyghon would be hard work to summon, and even harder work to put back into its box afterwards, but so would anything with the sort of power that he needed, and the more he thought about it the more certain he was that they were up to the challenge.

“That’s a critter that’s listed in my white pages,” Deidre nodded towards the book that was in his hands. 

He felt almost reverent about it as he opened the book, and gently turned the yellowed pages, until he came to one near the end that was written in scratchy, slightly faded brown. It looked like all of the rumours about this volume were true.

Brushing a light finger over it, he wondered who had died to make the hundreds of tiny lines, spread across several pages and the symbols that were on the last page and scattered throughout the instructions. There was far too much here for the contributor to have survived. Had it been someone who had been killed in a fucked-up summoning, or someone that the demon had possessed, or simply some nameless, faceless victim? He would never know either way, of course.

“So, how’s your Etruscan, Rupert? I’m afraid I wouldn’t know any better if you told me that it said we had to live with wolves for a week. Never really did get the hang of other languages, aside from Latin, and who doesn’t know that? Such a disappointment to Watcher-dearest.”

“I could read it with my eyes shut,” then he frowned, thinking over what he’d just said, “Well, apart from the fact that I couldn’t see the words with my eyes shut. Deidre, I could just about kiss you.”

She laughed lightly, “Save it for after we’ve broken this sodding bond of yours, yes?”

“I can do that. Did you have any piss in the fridge? It looks like I’ve got my work for the night sorted.”

“I might have a few bottles. Did you want a spliff as well? Got more of that then I do booze. I don’t have a Slayer’s metabolism, after all.”

“I don’t really smoke. Dealing with something like Ethan, I prefer to keep my wits about me. I think I’ll make an exception tonight, though.”

“Good man, Rupert,” she grinned at him. Tonight he was beginning to understand, better than ever, why she had left her Watcher.

**Sunnydale 1998**

The night opened up to him whispering its secrets like a lover under the cover of darkness, as the stars fell into place. Ethan had covered miles before he had settled down in a place that he felt was far enough from Sunnydale that things would be normal for him. Or as normal as they would be on this night, anyway.

He could smell blood on the air, warm and still flowing. Growling he tested the air again. There were so many warm bodies around, so many waiting for him, with no idea that tonight would be their last night on this earth.

He couldn’t think beyond the kill, couldn’t imagine anything sweeter than the blood that he would soon be spilling, or the terror of the people who would count his face amongst the last things they would see.

He knew that he had shifted fully, could feel the power, so much more than what it usually was, rippling through him. He felt like he could tear bodies in half with a single flex of muscle. He knew that he would be able to, but wouldn’t, because of the waste that that would be.

He could remember the last Feast, when he had run and hunted with a pack of seven others. The usual rules were suspended for this night; vampires that were usually defensive and prickly, and spoiling for a good fight amongst themselves, threw that all to the wayside. Tonight was one night that was all about the kill.

The only competition last time had been who could kill and drain the most humans. Between the eight of them they had wiped out close to fifty over a period of just over four hours. Some of the younger vampires had snapped the occasional neck, or torn out a heart to suck it dry. Such games were only for the children, though. For he, and the other two older members of the pack it had been all about feasting, drinking deep, and about making sure that the younger five didn’t lose their heads completely. Vampires tended to be drawn towards packs for things like this, youths to elders.

That was another reason why Rupert should have been here with him. You couldn’t get much younger than still being mostly human. There was too much of his blood in Rupert’s veins already, for it to ever be fully counteracted. He should have been here, preparing to take a kill himself. Rupert wasn’t human after all, not for the last sixteen years, no matter how much he denied the facts.

Ethan calmed himself, forcing the shift back to human morph. The yard that he entered was wide, and sparse. Weeds grew up between dull orange bricks which were set into a path, and the rest of the ground was gravelled. An oil-stain was in the middle of the driveway, but there was no car that he could see. The walls were flecked with white, peeling paint.

There were at least seven in this home , from what he could smell, two adults and three that were almost adult, and the other two just inside or younger than the age of puberty. There were also two dogs, German Shepherds by the smell of them. He’d always had an affinity with dogs. He could feel these two shivering and whining in their kennel, afraid to come out and meet a predator that was so much more dominant than they were tonight.

Reaching the kennel he grabbed the chain of one of the dogs and dragged it out as its claws scrabbled on the wood. The other dog laid his arm open to the bone with a single bite, but he knew that it would heal within minutes, once he started feasting. He snapped the chain off from around the dog’s neck, and then snapped its neck, careful not to kill or paralyse it. Holding it with one arm under its chest he climbed the steps to the front door.

He pounded on the door, and listened to the sound of a shotgun being pumped before the door was opened.

“What the hell?” A male asked. His eyes were brown and bloodshot from sleep, and his thinning hair and beard were a sold grey.

“This your dog?” Ethan lifted it slightly with both arms, being sure to look like it was a struggle, “Found ‘im out on the street. Still breathing, but I think there’s something seriously wrong. Skid marks on the middle of the road, too.”

The hard look on the man’s face was softened by fear.

“Thank-you. Please, can you bring him in; lay him down on the table? That’s Sheba, my son’s dog; prize winners on both his dam’s and sire’s sides. He’d be devastated if anything happens to him.”

There were the words he’d been looking for. _Please, can you bring him in?_ With a smile that went unnoticed Ethan stepped over the threshold.

“Sorry for coming downstairs with the gun, but you never know what you’re gonna find these days.”

“No, you don’t do you? The world isn’t what it used to be.”

“Damn right about that,” the man swept several piles of paper off the kitchen table without giving then a second glance. “How that damn mongrel slipped its chain, I’ve no idea. Lay him down here, would you?’

Ethan gently lay the dog down.

“You some sort of weightlifter? Last time that dog had to be carried it took two of us.”

“Just a lot stronger than I look,” Ethan smiled faintly, and found some amusement in the way that the man’s unease spiked at that expression, “and the world is never same, not even from one century to the next.”

“What the hell?” The man took half a step back.

“Haven’t seen hell in a long time, my friend.”

Ethan morphed, and it was the work of seconds to pin the man and sink his teeth deep into his throat, grazing the artery under the surface so the blood pumped down his throat with every heartbeat, hot and sticky, and like a hit of caffeine to him. The man thrashed wildly, gasping and sputtering, and pounding against Ethan’s back with the strength of someone that knew they were going to die. It was the work of less than a few minutes to drain him dry, letting the heart do all the work for him.

“Michael, what’s going on down there?”

Ethan smiled slightly, as he recalled the inflictions that were in the man’s words. Clearing his throat, he called out, in a perfect mockery of Michael’s voice.

“Come on down, would ya? Have to talk to ya.”

He cocked his head, listening to the tread on the stairs. This one he would take with ease, too, swift and silent as her husband.

She came into the room and froze, seeing her husband’s dead body in his arms. She drew herself up, and to his surprise tried to rush him. He tossed the body at her, and the weight of it slammed her back into the ground and knocked the wind out of her. He could hear her heart pounding, a constant rhythm in his ears, as loud as the beat of a drum. Even with no breath in her lungs she fought like a wildcat, shoving her husband’s body off her, and attacking him with tooth and nail, hitting every part of him that she could reach. Her teeth sunk into his arm, just above where the dog had bit, and he hissed as her hands went for his face and she tried to blind him.

He caught a wrist with each hand, and then locked them together with one. He raised both hands above her head and forced them to the ground. Her eyes were wide with terror, as she tried to kick out at him and he easily twisted to the side, out of the way.

“Run, get out of here!” she yelled at the top of her voice, and Ethan held her in place as he listened to the sound of scrabbling from the other rooms, the startled cry of a baby as it was disturbed from its sleep, and the sound of footsteps down the hall, before the door slammed open.

He also heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Twisting his head, he looked at a young man who couldn’t have been much older that eighteen, pointing a pistol at him with shaking hands.

“You leave my mother alone, you monster! You fucking coward! Let her go, or I swear I’ll shoot you!”

Ethan turned his head fully, so that the child could see his face and snarled. His voice was distorted by his fangs.

“Don’t you think you should do as she says?”

The woman under him was sobbing in loud, animalistic wails. Yet she still managed to speak.

“Go, take care of the others for me.”

The boy dropped the gun, then turned and ran. He twisted back to her, licked at a tear.

“The smell of terror. There really is nothing sweeter.”

“I…I…I…I’ll give you anything you want. I don’t care who you are, or what you are, I… I’ll never say anything, just please leave my children alone.”

He growled, as he lowered his head towards her throat. If this had been his last hunt, then he would have taken her, while drinking. But her body held no interest for him now, only her blood.

“You only have one thing I want, and I would take it even without your permission.”

He sunk his teeth into her neck, but not as deeply as with her husband. This one had a fire in her that he so rarely encountered amongst the people of this day and age. So few of them tried to fight him, unless they were on death’s door. This time he took his time, draining her to the point of consciousness.

“One time offer, sweetheart. Do you want to live with the potential of living forever?” He gave her the choice, and he meant it. Her blood had a spice to it that hinted at magic somewhere in her ancestry, and that made it almost bittersweet.

“As a thing like you? Never.”

“Very well, then.”

He pushed his teeth in a little deeper, and she was dead in another few seconds. Letting go of her, he stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders back. It was time to hunt the children, although might let a couple of them live. 

**XXX**

Rupert could smell the blood around him, heavy on the air. Nothing could stop him from picking up the scent, or his teeth from aching, or the bloodlust welling inside him. He didn’t just want to fight, he needed to. It was some primordial predator’s instinct, from when man knew that there was a reason to be afraid of the shadows. He needed to fight, and craved not just the scent of blood, brought to mock him by some distant wind, but the very taste of it.

Blood was about power, about holding mastery over someone’s life and death, about making the decision and then reaping in the reward, drinking someone’s life in, and it wasn’t just someone else’s any more, but yours and yours alone, your life, your power. He understood that with a clarity that he hadn’t had in a while.

Even over the rumbling, full-throated roar of the bike he could still hear screams in the night, sounds that seemed almost painfully loud to him, but to a normal person would be nothing more than murmurs. He didn’t need the bike’s headlight to see where he was going, either. His own eyes, and the streetlights gave the night the appearance of daytime, when everything was in shadows, but it was still bright enough to see. To a real vampire it must have been like noon out.

He didn’t know or care where he was going. All that mattered was that it was away from the High School. He followed one of the blood-trails on the breeze, and stopped the bike at the corner of a street towards the outskirts of town.

Even away from the streetlights there was still more than enough light for him to see by. The vampire that was in the middle of the street, holding a person up against the wall stood out like it had been painted in neon. As he watched it finished with the man, dropping him to the ground like an empty wrapper, and turned towards him.

Reaching into his jacket pocket he tugged a stake free, and squared off against it as it approached him slowly, like a cat stalking a mouse. He had his magick, of course, but that wouldn’t satisfy the blood in him screaming for a fight.

He met it halfway down the street, and the fight was short, but brutal. It was clearly young, and had no idea of how to control its strength, or about the level of power that it possessed. He took a couple of blows to his side, and its teeth scraped along the neck of his jacket, although there wasn’t enough pressure to split the leather. On its second charge he stepped to the side and slammed an elbow into the back of its neck, knocking it down to the ground, and then he began to thrash it, kicking and hitting for all he was worth.

Its blood was cold, but it was still blood. It could still be spilt.

When he finally slammed the stake through its back it was cringing away from every touch, and its face had sunk back to human. It was spitting blood, its cheeks were swollen, and part of the side of its head was caved in. He knew that he wasn’t imagining the look of relief when he finally dusted it.

He didn’t get back on the bike, but instead walked, following another blood-scent, this one sweeter and fresher.

This time the person was still alive and kicking. The vampire that drew back from her had hair that was white with age, long and curled and flowing around its shoulders, and a face that was softened by the more feminine aspects even with the protruding brow and razor fangs. Her eyes that were a sharper shade of amber than he usually saw, more wild and animalistic. Then again, he hadn’t exactly stopped to look deep into the eyes of the last vampire that he’d dealt with.

The only reason he didn’t instantly set upon this one was because there was no challenge in the way that it raised its head to look at him. This vampire had probably been someone’s grandmother once upon a time, and it must have been extremely skilled at dealing with the youth. He could see that in the way that it reacted to his presence, drawing back a little, making itself less threatening towards him. The dust on the ground around her told him that this one had also probably fought off a couple of intruders tonight.

He watched coolly as it sniffed at him, pressing its hand down on the wound that it had made in the neck of its prey, even as it spoke, “Not quite one of us, but not quite human either. Come out to play with us for the night, have you?” Its voice was rough, like it didn’t often speak. It held out a blood-red palm towards him, in an offering, and again that unbelievable scent of power and life caught him. He was breathing heavily, deeply, as he stared, mouth watering. The beast in him was urging him to drink deeply.

The old vampire smiled at him, “I could make tonight particularly memorable for you, young one. If you’re already paying penance to the devil, then why not explore his home?”

He shivered and took a single step forward, unsure of what he, was going to do. The blood, Ethan’s blood told him to kill. He could smell the fear of the woman at the vampire’s feet, and it wasn’t just fear but that intoxicating blend of outright terror. He wanted her blood, wanted to drain her and finish her life. That smell, blood and terror was going straight to his head, and he couldn’t think straight as he dropped into a crouch, and heard her begging, breathless plea for him to help her. He didn’t know what she thought she was going to get out of him. He breathed in deeply, and grasped her chin with his hand, tilting it back.

Her eyes caught his, so young and yet so old in the face of her death. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Her eyes caught his, and in her place he saw Buffy, determined yet terrified of her own death, and still prepared to face it.

He forced himself to let go and stand on shaking legs. The old vampire’s hand caught his shoulder, and its voice was soft in his ear, the notes in it more woman than beast, “It gets easier, child. After the first kill you won’t look back.”

He turned to face it, face her. The face had already settled back into the human mask.

“I did, though,” his teeth ached and his head was swimming, and the bloodlust wasn’t any less overwhelming than it had been. It was his will that had been strengthened. He had already done one thing that he regretted tonight, and he didn’t want to add another to the toll, no matter how right the idea may have seemed at the time, “and I’d look back on tonight even more so, because I would be able to say that this was where I truly gave up on my humanity.”

It looked at him as though he were spouting rubbish, eyes a shade of blue that were so light they were almost grey. He got that. To her, a pure demon, it would have been crap. Humanity didn’t matter to a demon, and courage didn’t count until you could count. Well, he could count both the mistakes that he had made and the number of ways that he could end this vampire’s existence.

He still wanted to fight, and he was no reason to deny that part of his nature, even if he didn’t want any of the rest of it. She fought with all the skill of several decades’ worth of experience, and by the time he finally bested her, his muscles were aching and every breath he drew burned his lungs. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could have lasted.  
As he limped back to the bike, he felt every blow that she had landed. He wasn’t sure of what the time was, but he was fairly sure that the stars were beginning to move out of that crucial position. Blood wasn’t all that mattered any more.

Now he was more concerned about getting back home in one piece. This time he put the helmet on, and used the headlight, even though his eyesight could still cut through the shadows and would be able to for at least the next hour. He rode back home as slowly as possible, caring a lot more for his own health than he had on the way out there, and after parking the bike and letting himself in he staggered upstairs to the bed and crashed down on it, closing his eyes and dropping off to sleep before he had even removed the jacket.

It was after ten the next morning, when he woke up to the blazing heat of a Southern Californian morning, made that much worse by having all the windows closed and wearing leather. After ten minutes of deliberation he managed to pick up the phone and ring the High School to beg a day off because he felt sick.

Well, it was true to a point, he thought, as he closed his eyes after finally making the effort to strip off before he cooked. He was nowhere near as bad off as he had been after Ethan’s spell on the night of The Disparity, but he did still feel off-colour. The bruises and scrapes that he bore from last night looked off-colour, too.

Stretching out naked, on top of the bed, in the lovely darkness of the house, he drifted back off to sleep. 

**XXX**

It was six days out from that night, and Ethan wasn’t back yet. 

Rupert had avoided checking the papers, although he couldn’t help but overhear the rumours of carnage in a town a good day’s travel outside of Sunnydale, and he couldn’t stop his mind from making the leap when he heard it mentioned.

One version of the story had it that a family of five had been killed in their home, and found the next morning drained of every last drop, and another person had said that it was five families across several neighbouring farms.

He didn’t know the truth, and that was the way that he preferred it. Even if it was the work of vampires, or a vampire, it hadn’t necessarily been done by the one that he lived with. If he didn’t know then he wouldn’t have to feel guilty for its possible actions. Then he could live with in his ideal world, in which it had spent the night resisting the tug of its own nature, when even he had came a hair’s breadth from ripping some person’s throat out.

 _In reality_ , a little voice that sounded a hell of a lot like Xander mocked him from the safety of his head, if it had been that hard for him, then something that was as old as Ethan wouldn’t have stood a chance resisting its nature and probably wouldn’t have wanted to, either. But if he didn’t have to feel guilty about Ethan, then that meant that the only thing he had to feel guilty for were his own actions.

No-one else may have noticed it, but it was painfully obvious to him that Xander was still doing everything within his power to avoid him. It wasn’t really that obvious though, he supposed. It wasn’t like Xander had stopped coming by the library, it was more that he only did it with either Buffy or Willow or even Cordelia. He didn’t hang around on his own, and he didn’t come along with the others when he caught up with them outside of school hours.

On the occasion that Xander was there beforehand, then the boy would make some excuse to leave, and when he couldn’t invent one then he simply kept a wary watch on Rupert out of the corner of his eye, and stayed over the side of the room.

He didn’t have a clue where to start with trying to mend things, not after what the boy probably saw as an attempted strangulation, like any regular human would. If he had pushed the point with Ethan like that then he would have been grateful if something like that was the only repercussion, but the boy wasn’t him, and he wasn’t Ethan.

Those two deaths at the school and the one he’d witnessed had been far from the only ones around the town. His own two fights may not have done anything to slake his bloodlust, but it wasn’t the first time that he had shoved that back down below the surface.

The human had that already been bleeding out had been on the border of death when she was offered to him. She had died while he had been going hand to hand with the creature that had shown him what was, in a vampires terms, a lot of generosity.

Did that make the death his fault? He wasn’t sure. The other question was did he care? He couldn’t lie to himself and say that he did. There wasn’t a hell of a lot in this world that he actually cared about. That was something that he could blame on Ethan’s influence all he liked, too, but it didn’t change the fact that the seeds for it had already been there.

Digging into the kitchen drawer he pulled out a packet of aspirin and dry-swallowed a couple of them, a pre-emptive attempt to ward off the headache that he knew was building, although he doubted it would do much. Almost two weeks had passed since Ethan had left. That was why he was beginning to sicken. Mundane methods had never done a lot for him, at least as far as this was concerned.

He wished he knew where to start, but if Xander kept avoiding him then he could hardly talk to him, and if he couldn’t talk to him then he certainly couldn’t protect him.

Maybe that was for the best, though. The boy would have to learn to stand on his own two feet and face his own life, whether that was beside Willow or Buffy. No matter how painful that life might be he knew he couldn’t do a thing to stop it from coming to pass. The sooner Xander found his own confidence the harder it would be for it to be destroyed. Maybe it would be a fruitless exercise, but he had to hope that it wouldn’t be. If he came back in his own time, then that would be better than forcing him to sit and listen.


	11. Chapter 10 – Portents (And Facets)

** Chapter 10 – Portents (And Facets)  **

“Hope dangles on a string   
Like slow-spinning redemption”  
\- Dashboard Confessional – Vindicated 

**England 1980**

It was nearly dawn, and the words on the page in front of him were finally beginning to blur into one another. Leaning forward he planted his elbow on his knee, rested his chin on his fist and closed his heavy, aching eyes. Deidre had nodded off at around four, sitting up in the chair, not as used to staying up all night as he was.

Rupert let his mind wander to the future, after everything had been done, and they had summoned their demon, then successfully put it back in the box again. To the time after Ethan had been taken care of. He honestly wasn’t sure how he felt when he though about that, but it was another one of those things that had to done for his freedom to be an eventuality.  
There was no way that it would let him live if so there could be no possibility for its escape. Not that he wanted it to, with what it had taken from him. Choices, plans, and opportunities. In fact it had taken his life from him. Without its interference everything would have been different. He would have had his own life; that was what he had to keep remembering.

How long until he would be able to sleep at night again? How long before he felt normal? To have his life again, even though it would never be what it might have been… well, it would be nice. Yeah, nice. That was it.

“Rupert?”

He slowly opened his eyes, to see Deidre standing in front him. The sky was grey, with a single patch of blue over to the east. So, it was just past sunrise, then. He hadn’t even heard her stand up.

“Mmm. Morning, princess.”

She let the name pass without comment.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

He slowly shook his head, and stood, shaking his limbs out to return some feeling to them.

“Nah. Just resting my eyes. Thinking. You’ve been out to it for a few hours, though.”

“You’ve been hunched over that thing for the whole night?” She sounded surprised.

“You can’t tell me that your Watcher never had you pull an all-nighter. Besides, it’s not uncommon even for a normal student. That isn’t regular garden-variety Etruscan, either.”

“No, I suppose not. I never actually stayed awake if I could help it, though,” then she frowned, “What do you mean it’s not normal Etruscan? It looks like that strange thing my Watcher tried to get me to learn.”

“Some of it, names and facts and description and the like are straightforward, but the essential things, such as our figures, times, and dates and the instructions in general are written to a code. Even the diagrams and symbols are coded, the key in the way they lie amongst the words. But I think I’ve managed to get the essence of it. The code seems basic enough. It’s just the language it’s written in that makes it tricky.”

“Says the man who said he could read Etruscan with his eyes shut.”

Rupert had the grace to look abashed, “When I said with my eyes shut I meant… I meant… oh, forget it. It’s been a long time since I did anything with that language in particular, and it’s not quite what the translation exercises that my teacher back at school set me were. As for Ethan, it’s more about the things that have a practical application.”

“When you say you think you’ve got everything essential?”

“There are a couple of pieces that don’t make sense no matter what way I look at them. I think there might be another code over the original one. I… I’m not entirely sure that it’s important, though. It may even just be to put people off from attempting the spell in the first place.”

“Someone wrote an entire book of summoning rites, over half it in human blood, and you think they wanted to discourage people from raising demons?”

“It’s actually a fairly common practise. A lot of summoning rites can have hell consequences if you screw them up, anything from the demon you’re trying to raise being set free upon the earth, to disaster on a cataclysmic scale. Someone who writes something like that down might want to make sure that the caster understands the spell well enough to know what is irrelevant.”

“Surely it couldn’t be that bad?”

Rupert gave her a grim smile, “Never walked down the main drag in Alifoine, have you?”

“No, couldn’t say I have.”

“You never will, either. Alifoine is the true name of the island that people these days call Atlantis. That’s what a fucked-up summoning can do. You say the wrong word, make the wrong movement, maybe even invoke the wrong deity and it’s fish-fingers for all, and all are fish-fingers. ”

“I never even liked seafood.”

He laughed, “Hence, all the more reason to avoid a screw-up. Now I’m going to go ho…,” he rubbed his palm over his face, to cover his distraction, “back to the house, and get some sleep, and then there are a shitload of calculations that I have to figure out. I’ll probably get back to you with the results in a few days.”

She looked at him, “You seem dead on your feet. Why not have a kip here?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I can’t give myself away. I have wards to set, and Ethan will know if I don’t do it. The last thing that I need to be doing is causing trouble, when I don’t know exactly what Ethan’s reaction will be if I push it too far.”

“That makes a lot of sense.” She stepped aside to let him out of the sitting room, then closed the book and held it out to him, “Didn’t you need this, Rupert?”

“Best I don’t take any evidence back with me. Besides, I’ve got all that I need up here,” he tapped the side of his head, “I’ve always had a good memory.”

“See you, then.”

He only just bit back a yawn, “Catch you, Deidre.”

**Sunnydale 1998**

“Ah. Sunnydale, sweet Sunnydale.”

Ethan stood by the sign welcoming people to the town, and wondered what number the population had dropped by last week and how much difference the Slayer had made on the night in question. Sniffing at the air he scented it, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

Soon he would find out exactly how Rupert had handled himself, or not, too. Whether he had blooded himself, or clung to the concept of his humanity like the cherished jewel that he seemed to think that it was.

“People, place your bets,” he said to the night, before he started walking again, blending into the shadow with a much-practised ease, tongue flicking out to lick his top lip. Rupert was strong-willed. That trait that he had cursed several times over the years would have left him in good standing for the night.

It would also make it that much harder on him when he did finally take a human life the natural way, and there was no doubt that one night he would. The blood in him made it a guaranty.

It had been years since he had last hunted and feasted the way that he had under those stars, since he had last allowed himself to do exactly what he wanted. The last time had been back when he had been nursing Rupert back to health, and he’d had to hunt nightly so that he could keep himself at the top of his game.

It was hard with Rupert around. He had to keep a far tighter leash on himself then he would have chosen to do so, but it was a lot easier for Rupert if he had an excuse that he could give himself.

There was no point in telling him that there were times when three millennia worth of instinct, telling him to hunt, feed and kill, was hard to deny, that there were times when by choice he didn’t resist his nature. He knew Rupert knew, and that he had known for over a decade now. 

Life was easier without hunters breathing down his neck, and dogging his every footstep. Feeding in smaller amounts every other day or so meant that he could not just survive, but live in relative comfort.

The few vampires that he knew of which had been around as long as he, or longer, held the same opinion as well. Just because you didn’t see them it didn’t mean that they weren’t there. The older one got the more territory was usually considered his or hers, and one elder very rarely encroached on another’s territory. There were few creatures or demons that were more territorial that a vampire. The younger members of the population weren’t old enough to be considered a threat, but if another elder trespassed without first seeking permission, then it was often the first move in a private war.

His territory included London and a lot of the surrounding area, although he wasn’t as strict with the city as another might have been. He supposed there would probably be a few that would avoid the Hellmouth and it’s surrounding area already too, for fear of being eradicated, although he hadn’t yet been there long enough to stake a claim, and had no desire to, either. Sunnydale or any Hellmouth as far as he was concerned was free game, neutral territory. 

Although the elder, known simply as Bao, these days, who held the territory around the Hellmouth in Beijing had a different opinion on the matter from what he’d heard.

The best things about getting back home would be the certain shelter from the sunlight, and a bed to sleep in again. It beat curling up in the middle of a pile of hay by a long shot. That had lost its charm almost before it had a chance to become old. That was one thing that he would grant to humans; as they got more complacent they had made their lives a lot more comfortable. 

The occasional body that he did leave behind couldn’t be linked to him by anything other than suspicion. Rupert wouldn’t ask and Ethan wouldn’t tell.

Besides, if things were what he suspected that they were, then soon Rupert would have a lot more to occupy him.

As he neared the town itself he opened himself up to the flow and ebb of power around him, although he didn’t really need to do so in order to find Rupert. He knew that the man would probably be at home, with only a bad mood to keep him company after two weeks alone, unless he was out saving the world. He doubted he would be out socializing with that slowly growing pack of children, for fear of saying something that he couldn’t take back. Rupert always got snarky when he was irritable, and while the children may have noticed some of that, he knew that he tried to keep the more unpleasant aspects of his character to himself.

Catching another scent in the air, he paused and checked it, to make sure of what it was that he could smell and then smiled slightly to himself. It wasn’t a pleasant expression, by any stretch of the imagination. It seemed that distraction he’d been thinking about would be happening even sooner than he’d thought.

“Sunnydale, you never fail to keep things interesting.”

He unlocked the door and let himself in.

**XXX**

“Good evening, Rupert.”

Ethan’s voice was polite, as it walked into the lounge and eyed Rupert where he sat on the couch, muscles tense, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. It watched as he put the book and drink down, and a ripple passed through him as he made to stand and greet it, then realized what he was doing, and used the movement as an excuse to push himself further back into the couch.

“Good evening,” Ethan could hear the tremble in his voice, no matter how well he masked it. Rupert scratched at his arm almost absent-mindedly, and then crossed his arms looking for some distraction, “I could feel you coming from two damn blocks away. Possibly further.”

Ethan was surprised, after all of that, when Rupert actually stood and crossed the room to stand just in front of it. Well, that made a change. Ethan raised a hand towards his shoulder and was even more surprised when Rupert not only accepted the touch, but leaned in so that they were chest to chest, his face pressing into the cool hollow at the top of Ethan’s shoulder. His left hand trailed down Ethan’s arm, to thread his fingers through its, and it could feel him shivering.

Turning its head slightly, Ethan pressed its nose to his hair and breathed in deeply. It could think of only one reason why Rupert would be acting like this, letting himself do what he wanted to, when in the past even the mere thought of it would have sent him into a raging fury.

“How did you weather the night?” Ethan kept its voice soft and low.

Rupert pulled his head back a little so that he could talk, “I think it’s possible that it could have gone better. You?”

“I hunted. Did you really want to know the details of it?”

Rupert looked as though he were actually considering that.

“I suppose not,” he muttered.

“Did you kill?” Ethan finally asked the question.

The silence stretched out. Ethan raised its free hand, and played its fingertips over the side of Rupert’s neck, then cupped its hand behind his head, fingers splayed out over the back of his skull.

“No, but I…well, I’m not sure that I know myself the way I thought I did. I’ve never known a hunger like it before, and I, I’m fairly certain that I’ve lost Xander’s trust as well as my own. You’re probably thrilled to be proven right, over whether I could handle myself.” 

“What did you do?”

The sound of Rupert’s laughter was bitter.

“I treated him like you would have.”

“Hmm?”

“Vampires attacked the high school, which I can’t actually say was unexpected. He was arguing with me, he wanted to go out and get help, and I didn’t want to risk anything happening. I grabbed him by the neck and pinned him against the wall. I wanted to… I don’t know, I…I… I wanted to tear his throat out, and I wanted to hit him and make him listen, and I wanted to…oh, I don’t know. Stopped arguing, though,” again Ethan felt the faint shaking of bitter laughter, “stopped talking altogether, and he’s been avoiding me ever since.”

“You’re no fool, Rupert,” Ethan tightened its grasp a little on both his head and hand, letting him feel the strength that was there, “You know how much worse it could have been, especially on a night like that, a night that had you on the edge of who you were. So you gave him a fright, made him sit up and pay attention. It’s hardly a crime, when it could have been his blood on your hands, or on the claws of something else. Do you regret it?”

“Of course I do,” Rupert’s voice was muffled.

“I don’t mean now. I mean, in that moment did you?”

Ethan heard him swallow, “No. It was… I had to make him listen. That just makes it even worse.”

Rupert tilted his head back and closed his eyes, offering his throat. Ethan could tell that he was fighting to control every breath, could feel his tremble worsening and hear his heart beginning to speed. He turned them, so that his back was to the wall, and leaned back.

“I don’t want to think about it. About any of it, not right now. Please.”

Even that was different. Rupert had asked before, on those rare occasions when he could beat his pride and tenacity down far enough to allow it, but he’d never done so with such a raw, open need.

“Please,” he whispered again, still not opening his eyes.

Ethan felt him still at the first brush of fangs as it nipped lightly at his throat, before actually biting, wearing the half-morph that he had always preferred. Rupert relaxed, as lips touched the skin around fangs, and Ethan’s grasp tightened around his hand. It lifted his hand above his head and pushed it back against the wall in one smooth movement, then changed its grip so it was holding his wrist instead. Rupert raised his other hand so that was being pinned as well.

Ethan smiled against the skin of his throat, and forced his hands higher until Rupert gasped, a hint of pain in it. Pushing Rupert’s head further to the side it bit harder, then pulled back and ran a cool tongue over the wound without breaking contact, sucking lightly, just enough to draw the flavour of his blood into its mouth.

“I’ll make you stop thinking for now,” Ethan breathed. Rupert shivered at the feeling of its breath, cool against the heated skin, and whined softly, shakily, as it drew its tongue along the underside of his chin, licking the salt from his skin before it trailed several kissed along his jaw-line, then went for his lips.

It kissed with a bruising force, biting his lip hard enough to add blood to the mix. Rupert could taste it on his own tongue, as Ethan invaded his mouth, short strokes against his tongue and flicking upward to the roof of his mouth before it drew back to nip his lip again, making him bleed afresh. 

It ground against him hard as it returned its attention to his neck, and he could feel its cock straining in its pants, pushing against his hip as it leaned its weight into him. The hand that had been holding his head still was undoing the buttons of his shirt, shoving the material back onto his shoulders to reveal his chest, and the slight, dark covering of hair that was there. 

He tugged at the pressure on his wrists so that he could slip his arms free, and Ethan tightened its grasp, growling and shoving his hands against the wall so that he could feel the pattern of the wood leaving an imprint against his skin.

“Give it up, Rupert. That control that you demand of yourself, give it up.”

It nursed at his neck, and he was straining, trying to push against it, but his feet couldn’t get enough purchase against the ground to do anything, as its hand traced over his chest, circling and pinching at his nipples until he gasped again, running down his body, tickling over his chest hair, to dip just inside the waistband of his jeans, before brushing over the outline of his cock through the rough fabric.

For him to give himself up like this was a rare thing. Rupert was already sweating lightly, trying to push against its hand, but it wouldn’t allow any more than the lightest of maddening brushes.

His breath was coming heavily, a sharp panting as it kissed him on the lips again, a hungry, controlling, dominating gesture, pushing his tongue down, and to the side, making it go where it wanted to, not even allowing Rupert control of such a tiny thing. He was still trying to increase the contact, tugging at the way it was holding him there. With every jerk against its grasp it drew its hand away, only bring it back when he relaxed a little, and it kept its tongue moving in his mouth, short strokes and long, still not giving anything up.

The second that it felt Rupert relax fully, not straining or fighting for control any more, that was the moment when it finally rewarded him, undoing the fly on his jeans, and wrapping a cool hand around him as he sprang free from the restraint, moving its hand over the shaft, ghosting the heel of its hand over the head of his cock, still keeping its touches light. All that Rupert did in response was shiver.

It drew back from his lips, “That’s right, that’s it. That’s what I want, and I know that’s what you want, what you need. Let me give you what you need. Who’s in control here, Rupert?”

He groaned, and tried to push against his hand again, stopping himself halfway through the movement. Ethan still drew its hand back.

“Who’s in control here, Rupert?” Its voice was scarcely more than a breath.

He relaxed again, forced himself to find the words to answer, “You are.”

“Good.”

It rubbed the back of a pair of fingers over the top of his cock, and then twisted its hand at the base to rub lightly at his balls, which were still trapped by his jeans. As he open his eyes again it licked up the other side of his neck and he spread his legs a little wider so that there was more weight on his wrists, and let out a slow exhale.

Ethan undid his jeans the rest of the way, and let then drop to pool around Rupert’s ankles along with the boxers he was wearing. He went to step out of them, but Ethan shook its head, “No, leave them. I like you trapped,” it growled, a familiar, deep sound, “trapped and mine. You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

It looked down his body, over the hair which thickened and darkened, to his cock, standing out amongst that dark tangle, stiff and proud with a tiny pearl of dampness already at the tip, like it was drinking him in.

Again, the only warning he got was that growl, before it bit at the other side of his throat, only just hard enough to break the skin, to let a trickle of his blood run down his neck, while it rolled his balls in one hand. This time the noise he made sounded like it had been torn from somewhere within the depths of him, his pitch increased as Ethan moved its hand. It reached further between his legs, reaching around to the top of his arse and slowly ran a finger down.

It drew its hand back, the palm travelling along the underside of his cock, before it grasped him again. A half-dozen firm strokes, and Rupert’s head was dropping further back, the expression on his face a cross between extreme pleasure and relief. Ethan’s eyes were dark with lust as it stopped its ministration and loosened its grasp on his wrists.

“Turn around.”

He obeyed without hesitation and it tightened its grasp again, pressing his palms flat against wall. 

Lowering its head it bit him again, this time down further on his shoulder, a proper, deep bite as it ran a hand down his spine, and pushed the tips of a pair of fingers into him. Rupert’s eyes closed, and his head dropped back toward its shoulder, revealing a large, pale expanse of throat that it couldn’t help but draw its tongue up, before it pressed kisses along the length, interspaced with a hint of fang. It pushed its fingers deeper into him, nipped just under his chin then returned to the bite on his shoulder, sinking its teeth in again. It bit with a bruising force as it twisted and manoeuvred its hand to brush against his prostate, then began to work it fingers back and forth.

Every one of his exhales was marked by a breathy little whimper. With a warning squeeze of his wrists, and a growl it let go of him.

“Leave them there.”

It undid its trousers and pushed them and its underpants down off its thighs without breaking rhythm. The free hand went around to pull on his cock again, proper strokes that Rupert could feel through his entire body. The feel of his heated flesh firmly in its cool hand added an extra dimension to things, the contrast driving him a little wilder. 

It took every last piece of self-control that he had not to pull his hands down, and touch himself like Ethan was doing to him. The moment he finally flinched it took its hand off his cock and grabbed his wrists again, taking the possibility away. Then it pulled its fingers out of him and grasped his hip, as it lined up its cock with him and leaned into him, not doing any more than resting it there.

Rupert couldn’t find it in him to tense up, as it slowly pushed the tip of it into him, the cool flesh soothing the already hard-worked flesh. Just like it always did it felt huge inside him, tiny sparks of pain letting him know as it pushed a little deeper into him, then drew back, almost all the way out and push back in to the same depth. Eventually his muscles unlocked a little bit more.

It pushed fully into him, and bit harder to cause real pain. He moaned and tried instinctively to pull away from its teeth, even as he tried to push back against its cock, and its free hand curled around him again. It started to pump him in earnest, timing the movement of its hand to the thrust of its hips, and his entire life, his entire body boiled down to the pleasure of its hand, that cool length inside him reshaping his world, and the pain from where its teeth were in his shoulder, anchoring him.

Wouldn’t be much longer, wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer, that was all he knew, surely it could smell it, hear it, feel it, feel his impending orgasm, it had to know, it had to, he had to; -he tugged at his wrists, felt the strength holding them there, and that was enough to send him over the edge.

He came hard, muscles clenching tight around it inside him as he cried out, and it lessened the pressure of its bite, pumped into him a couple more times, then drove in deep froze and it was coming too, its cry unstated as it spilled coolness into him.

Its grasp on his wrists fell away, and he moved his hands down the wall until the palms were flat against it, and level with him, supporting him so that he could remain upright, when what he really wanted to do was collapse into an ungainly heap on the floor.

He felt its cock twitch inside him one last time, before its hands pressed lightly over the backs of his, and it drew out of him. 

Straightening, it pulled its trousers and underpants back up and refastened them, then began to chuckle as it watched Rupert twist so that his back was to the wall, then slide down it, eyes half closed until he was sitting on the floor “Jesus,” he muttered, drawing his legs up so that he could push his jeans and boxers off the rest of the way.

At its raised eyebrow he shrugged a single shoulder, “Less effort.”

Its chuckle became a brief, proper laugh, as it sat down on the couch to untie its shoes and kick them off.

Rupert joined its laugh with his own chuckle, before sobering and staring at it, meeting its eyes with an intensity that it wasn’t sure it had ever seen outside of hatred. Then he broke away, looking at his hands as though ashamed of himself. With his next words though, Ethan knew that that wasn’t the case. Or it might have been, but only partially.

“Thank-you.”

It was a moment that Ethan impressed into its mind. It had only taken some sixteen years to make a start at getting through to something else after all. Ethan wasn’t sure how long this new ground they were treading on would hold out for. Especially not if things were looking the way they were looking.

“Come here,” it patted the couch and gestured with its head watching as Rupert stood again, on legs that he didn’t seem sure he could trust, and made his way over to sit beside it. 

He kept his eyes on Ethan, watching as it leaned in towards him; to lick the bite on the side of his neck clean, then it performed the familiar gesture of biting the side of its own wrist and drawing a mouthful of blood that it worked into the bite with its tongue. It didn’t matter how many times he’d experienced it, he still winced at the sting of its blood seeping into the wound. It would heal cleanly though, that was something, he supposed. Half a minute later it pushed him around so that it could do the same to the bite that it had left on his shoulder, which was still throbbing dully.

It held his chin as it flicked its gaze over the rest of him. It let go of him and didn’t say anything as he closed his eyes, leaning half against its side, and half against the back of the couch, until his breathing began to even out. There, it nudged him with an elbow.

“If I know your habits half as well as I think I do, then you should go and lie down so that you can catch up on some of that sleep you’ve missed while I’ve been away.”

“Probably,” he allowed, but made no attempt to move until Ethan elbowed him again, a little more insistently. He finally pulled away and stood up. 

“Coming?” he asked from the doorway.

“For a while,” it stood and followed him up to the room, watching as he stripped off his top without bothering to turn on the light, and then curled up under the blanket naked. It settled beside him, an arm over his side and its body pressed up behind him, “Once you’re asleep I might head out for a few hours.”

It was less then fifteen minutes before Rupert’s heart-rate slowed and his breathing became deep and regular, but Ethan still waited out the hour, before slipping out of the bed and padding quietly down the stairs.

The moon looked huge and bright, and the night was still unquestionably young. He pulled his shoes back on, grabbed the key from the counter where he’d left it, and slipped out into the night to make his own round of Ripper’s scattered group of children, and find out if anything of interest looked like it had happened over the last two weeks.


	12. Chapter 11 – Truth (And Planning)

** Chapter 11 – Truth (And Planning)  **

“Can’t blame anyone  
For anything I’ve done”  
\- Anthony Stewart Head – Owning My Mistakes

**England 1980**

“I’m fairly sure that I’ve got everything sorted,” Rupert’s voice was low, hushed, and he leaned in so that he was basically whispering into Deidre’s ear, as though there was some risk of being overheard, out here in the centre of a crowded park, in the middle of the afternoon. There was no chance of it, but ever since he’d started working out those damned calculations he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there was something watching him.

Even now, knowing that he wouldn’t see anything there, it was hard not to look over his shoulder for some shadow that would seem out of place to him, but glaringly normal to everyone else. He knew he wouldn’t see anything of the sort, because he had already looked, and had since been keeping watch out of the corner of his eye.

Even as he told himself that he was being ridiculous he couldn’t stop.

It was four days since he had last caught up with her, and he hadn’t so much snuck out of the house today as he had simply stood up and told Ethan that he was going out to get some fresh air and sunlight, and that he would be back later. He had barely hung around long enough to see it nod in response before he had been out the door.

There was no way that it would have let him out of its sight for five minutes, if it’d had any idea of what he was doing, which was why he was sure that his paranoia was just that; paranoia. Unless it was giving him just enough rope to hang himself with, but somehow he didn’t think that was the case.

Deidre watched the way that he glanced around himself.

“Are you sure enough to stake our live and your freedom on it, Ripper? You know that is what you’ll be doing, right? It isn’t enough to just take blind guesses.”

“I’m not a bloody drooling idiot, Deidre. I know what I’m doing. If you don’t trust me though, then fine. I’m sure I can convince other people to work with me, for the return fare of power that will be granted until we lock our critter back in its box.”

“I didn’t say that I don’t trust you, Ripper. I just want to be sure.”

He grinned at her, making it the most mocking expression that he could muster, “Scared, Princess?”

He only just avoided the blow that she aimed at him, ducking under her fist when she swung.

She took a breath, “We’re playing with fire and gasoline, Ripper. Or maybe it’s closer to fire and dynamite. Either way, only a fool wouldn’t be.”

“More the fool I am, then,” he laughed, “but I fail to see how my life could get much worse than it already is. If I wind up dead, then at least I won’t have to put up with this shite any more. Besides, just because I’m not shaking in my fucking booties, doesn’t mean that I don’t respect the power we’ll be tapping. I maintain, if nothing else, a very healthy respect towards it.”

“You may not care about your own life, but I sure as hell haven’t spent the last year setting myself up for the effort to go to waste.”

“It won’t, Dee. I know what I’m doing.”

“Fine. So what did we need, and when do we need it by?”

Deidre tilted her head up towards the sun, and closed her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. The only thing that betrayed the fact that she was still paying attention was the slight tension that was still there even in her repose, as casual as she may have looked to the average observer. Rupert held up a hand, so that he could tick what he needed to off on his fingers.

“First we need more people, if we want to succeed in getting Eyghon’s attention,” he shifted slightly, leaning forward and staring at the trees on the other side of the park, before quoting, “The master of Death can only be drawn into this world through commitment of the act of life anew.”

She opened her eyes and twisted her head to stare at him with an expression on her face that he couldn’t read. A pair of ducks left the small pond to waddle over, quacking and looking for food, sun glinting off feathers and giving them an iridescent quality. He was glad for the distraction as the silence between them stretched out.

Finally, she cleared her throat, trying to hide her amusement, “So, it’s a sex-based ritual, then? I suppose that makes some sense.”

Rupert let out a slow breath, “It is. One person to draw the demon into, and one to act as the anchor. The… the anchor holds the power to tie the demon to this reality or not, and so by definition would hold the power over it. Then, for the act to gain the potency that it needs, at least four, five others. A blood sacrifice, to feed deaths hunger, the circle needs to be cast with dust from a gravestone, a vampire’s ashes mixed with the blood of the host and the anchor and the yolk and white of a Marsixan’s egg, four dragon’s teeth to set as foci, the basic set of an elemental blessing, and a marker of werewolf’s blood, to signify the change that comes with death.”

She whistled, “Is that all?” She asked in a shocked tone. Rupert was already right there with her on that, as he had mentally added the minimum cost up the other day.

“Not quite. The host has to carry demonic blood, to make the possession easier. Participants also have to ingest a brew of belladonna, herbane, mandrake, dragon venom and Wine of the Mother, which is risky in itself. The outside circle has to wear a mark etched with dragon’s blood and charcoal and the ritual itself has to be cast to tie in with the Etruscan New Year, because that’s a significant time of change.”

“So that’s when, exactly?”

“March the fifteenth.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” she allowed, “It will probably take that long to get everything anyway.”

Again he tried to read those blue eyes of hers, and failed.

“If you’re not into this, then let me know. I probably can find someone else, Deidre.”

“And let you gain the reward? Not bloody likely, Ripper. Besides, Like you said, what do we have to lose, aside from our lives?”

“You said yourself that yours means more to you than mine does to me, and I can understand that.”

“Yes, but you have another incentive,” she stated.

“There is that.”

“I’m also guessing that you don’t want to step up and be our host.”

“There’s the small matter of demonic blood, sweetheart,” Rupert said mockingly.

“If you’re trying to tell me that a vampire who claimed you has never blooded you, then I know you’re telling me shit, Rupert. For the bond to hold, it takes a hell of a lot more than just tab ‘A’ slotting into point ‘B’.”

“I doubt I carry enough of its blood for that, though. Besides, I’d rather act as anchor, ff that’s who holds the power over it then that’s the power that I need to make it do what I want.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” she smiled at him slightly.

“Yes, well there’s also the chance that with Ethan’s blood in my veins the possession would kill me,” Rupert stood up from the seat, “Let’s walk. I’m getting restless.”

“You’re not getting restless, Rupert. You’ve been jumpy ever since you got here.”

Rupert set the pace; led the way around the pond and past the swing-set and slide, then into the small belt of bushes that separated the park from the next block over. Stepping into the trees was a little like stepping into another world. Green light filtered down through the leaves and branches, giving Deidre’s eyes a timeless depth and painting her skin a different shade of colour, something kind of otherworldly and almost far enough off to be unsettling. 

She was wearing the usual black tee-shirt, camo pants and steel-cap boots, which Rupert had come to realize she wore like a uniform.   
“You know, it’s not paranoia if someone is actually following you.”

“So, which is it then; paranoia or justifiable concern?”

The sound of leaves crunching underfoot was soothing.

“I honestly have no fucking clue,” he finally admitted, “It just… It just feels like there’s a pair of eyes trained on my back.”

“It wouldn’t stoop to having you followed, would it?”

He shook his head, “That’s about the only thing I do know. If it were having me followed then it would have hauled me in for questioning weeks ago. Come the end of things, I wouldn’t have been lying to it. In fact, I may not have lied in the first place. It can probably even smell you on me, yet it still hasn’t said anything.”

“If it can smell that you’ve been hanging out with a Potential, then why wouldn’t it say anything?”

Rupert stopped walking, and she carried on a few steps before turning to face him.

“You might say we have an understanding,” he cleared his throat, “It gets the fact that there are times when I need some space of my own. Doesn’t usually mind me going out during the day when I need time, as long as I can still handle anything that it might throw at me that night. I need something that I can still call my own life.”

“Sounds like a pretty farfetched concept, for a mindless demon,” he heard the scathing tone in her voice.

“But Ethan’s not mindless. Savage, yes, and while it may not think in the same way as a human, it has spent long enough around us to form some understanding. Just look at the length of time that it’s survived for.”

A bird cawed above his head, and something sounded threatening about it.

“Intelligence in a vampire. Go figure. How rare is that fucking concept?”

“Serious question?” Rupert raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, yes”

“It is a debatable one, to be sure. What did your Watcher teach you of the theory behind it?”

“I never went much for the theory behind anything. So long as I knew what it was and how to kill it, that was all that really mattered.”

Rupert leaned back against a trunk, trying to look like he didn’t care about what he was saying and Deidre sat on a fallen tree. In spite of his coarse attitude, or maybe because of it, she could see a good teacher in him. He was the type of person that would make people sit up and pay attention.

“There are several factors that it depends on. When a vampire’s blood first supersedes a human’s the first thing that it does stop the heart. First thing that makes a difference is how quickly after that it hits the brain after that; a few minutes either side makes a difference between a working mind and a half-dead one. The second factor is how well, how readily the demon mind can integrate with the human brain left behind. Any demon has the ability to touch the memories that are already held in the brain, but the precision of the integration affects how readily the brain responds and the body reacts. The third is how clever the human was in the first place; the higher the base level of intelligence, the easier it is for the demon to learn. Then lastly we have how attuned to magic the person was; that, too, makes a difference in how rapidly the demon can learn, respond and react to external stimuli. The more powerful the human, the easier the demon can adjust to the flow, so to speak.”

She slowly blinked, as she stared up at him, “Shit, Ripper. You sound like a fucking walking text-book,” she looked at him guiltily for a moment, “You probably would make a good Watcher for some girl, you know,” she picked up a dead leaf and began to shred it, letting it float back down to the ground piece by piece.

“Yeah, well…”

“If you had been mine, I might not have not have even dumped the Council.”

“Blame Ethan. It has high standards,” he laughed, although nothing about the sound was real, “Yet I doubt they’ll let me near the Slayer that’s meant to be mine after I’ve pulled this stunt. Not without twenty four-seven supervision. Or they’ll kill her as soon as she’s born.”

He wasn’t sure whether Deidre looked shocked or appalled.

“They wouldn’t. The Council wouldn’t endorse the murder of a… an infant.”

“They would, and they have done so before. If they feel that the end justifies the means…”

“Jesus,” she breathed, “well, that’s one of the things they don’t tell you.”

“One more thing,” he almost felt bad about intruding on her thoughts.

“What?”

“After today, it’s best if I keep my head down, which means that I’ll be leaving things to you. If you need any bread, then I’ll check in with Thomas once a fortnight, so you’ll be able to leave a message with him. Reckon you can handle it?”

“Ripper, I was born to handle it.”

He grinned at her.

**Sunnydale 1998**

Friday night in Sunnydale didn’t often have much going for it, aside from the Bronze and the occasional ritual killing, but this was one of those rare nights that was an exception. Tonight a party was being held for the exchange students and their Sunnydale counterparts.

Rupert hadn’t been back since the end of the school day, and although Ethan understood his need for space, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t irritating at times. Still, it was a mild irritation, and he had put up with far worse over the years. There hadn’t been much of a debate, before he decided to have an easy evening at home. 

He had just settled down with a newly acquired book on skin walkers in one hand and a glass of wine in the other when the phone rung.

Ethan flicked a single eye toward it, wondering whether to bother answering. But then, he could count the number of people who had this phone number on seven fingers. It was too late for the school to be ringing, and when Rupert took off without a word like he had today then he wouldn’t call unless he was hanging by one hand from the top ledge of an eighteen- storey building. He may have softened a little in his attitude, but it wasn’t by any means a consistent thing. Nor could he think of anything the Council would be calling about, not that they were ever particularly generous with their warnings.

Which left one of Rupert’s flock of children. Closing his book and setting it to the side he picked up the phone, to hear Willow’s voice on the other end.

“Giles?”

“Is out, I’m afraid. You’ll have to make do with me.”

“You don’t know when he’ll be back?”

“No,” his voice was curt.

“Look, we’ve got a problem at the museum. There was this Incan Mummy Princess, and she was on a date with Xander, and she’s halfway to dust now, after she tried to kiss me when she didn’t want to kiss Xander, and he’s been knocked out somehow, and Buffy’s running interference with the staff, and I don’t know how much longer she can hold them off for.”

“Think about what you’ve just said. Would you care to turn it into a coherent sentence?”

He could just hear a scuffle on the other end of the line, and then the Slayer’s voice spoke to him, “Look, just get here, please. We need a safe place where Xander can come to, and that obviously isn’t here.”

“Fine. Out the front, ten minutes.”

The phone was slammed down at the other end of the line, and Ethan cast his eyes towards the ceiling, before laughing. Ah, Sunnydale, there really was no place like it. He’d had three millennia of actively serving chaos, when maybe he should have simply moved onto a Hellmouth and drawn from its potent energies instead.

But where was the fun in that?

He grabbed the car keys, locked the place behind him, and went out to start to car. This would give him a chance to check on something else, too. It was the perfect opportunity, really, especially without Rupert constantly watching over his shoulder.

It was a nice surprise to discover that the children had followed his instruction and were waiting outside. Xander was stretched out on the bench-chair and looked as though he were simply asleep. Buffy was pacing, and Willow was sitting with Xander, his head pulled onto her knee, stroking the top of his forehead.

Willow looked up as Ethan pulled up, and got out of the car.

“Now,” he cleared its throat, “would you care to give me the breakdown in English? All I gathered from that phone-call was that Xander’s princess girlfriend tried to pash you, Willow.”

Willow giggled slightly; then looked like she was angry with herself.

Buffy stopped pacing and looked at him, “I had an exchange student staying at my place, name of Ampata. Only she wasn’t an exchange student, turned out to be this way-old Incan mummy princess, who was released because the seal that she was holding got broken. We didn’t know until tonight, when we found a mummified male body in her trunk. By then Xander was already at the dance with her. By the time we got here she and Xander were arguing, and Xander told her that if she was going to kill someone then it would have to be him. She turned to Willow and tried to kiss her instead, and things went all up the kablooy. I stopped her from kissing Willow, and she fought back, but things were happening pretty quickly. I’m guessing that somewhere in the struggle Xander got hit in the head.”

Ethan moved over to the bench and pressed a pair of fingers to the side of Xander’s neck, focusing on the rhythm and depth of his breathing as it felt his pulse. It was a little sluggish but to really be concerned about, and his breathing was deep and strong. Pulling open an eyelid he stared into it, moving a finger in front of his pupil and watched the flicker of reaction.

With a deft touch he ran fingers over the top of his head, quickly finding a point that was slightly warmer than the rest of it. No broken skin but it was a point of impact, there was no doubt about that.

“How long has he been out already?”

“It’s bad isn’t it?” Willow was pale, and her lip was trembling, “I just know it’s bad.”

“He went down probably ten minutes before we called you, so about fifteen.” 

“It’s not actually that bad. He has taken a wack, but it shouldn’t be enough to do more than disorient him for a while, and leave him with a headache once he comes too. There’s no broken skin, no internal bleeding, his pulse is a little weaker than normal but there’s nothing thready about it, and his breathing is deep and even. He will be fine.”

He watched as relief flooded Willow’s face, and although it was less pronounced, Buffy’s as well.

“How long until he comes around?” Buffy asked, practical as ever, “We can’t exactly leave him here, and it would be a hard road explaining to his parents how he happened to get knocked out. That’s if they’re even bothered with…” she bit her lip.

“He’ll be out for quite a while yet, I’d say.”

“So…”

“I’ll take him back to our place,” Ethan cut Buffy off, as he made up his mind. “It will give him time to recover, and I can keep an eye on him for any complications.”

“You’d be willing to do that?” Willow looked extremely grateful.

“I would. Besides, I wasn’t offering, I was telling the pair of you.”

He easily picked Xander up, and carried him over to the car then laid him out across the back seat.

“I’m assuming the pair of you can make your own way back home?”

Buffy nodded, “This thing ends in another hour, so ample rides. Maybe that will give me time to come up with something to tell my mom about where out exchange student has gone, too.”

Ethan smirked, “Yes, I’m sure that will be an interesting conversation, Rupert will be in touch with you tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks for this,” Willow said, and Buffy nodded as he started the car.

He’d had a lot of practise at carrying unconscious humans, so this was no more difficult than anything else. He held the boy to his body with one arm and unlocked the door with his other hand, then locked the door behind him. Dropping the keys on the counter he shifted the boy to a two-handed grip, and climbed the stairs to settle him, so that he would be comfortable. Then he went about an old routine.

Finally, satisfied, he headed back down the stairs and rung Rupert, who answered on the third ring.

“What did you want?” Rupert’s voice wasn’t as guarded as usual, but it wasn’t welcoming.

“I want you back home.”

He could practically feel Rupert struggling with the question ‘why?’

“I’m at Harold’s. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes; is that soon enough for you?”

“That’s fine.”

Ethan settled down to wait, picked up the book again, and read until it heard the sound of Rupert’s key in the lock.

“Ethan,” he nodded coolly.

“Rupert,” Ethan stood up, and then gestured towards the seat.

It wasn’t surprising when Rupert crossed his arms and remained standing, “So, Ethan. What was so essential that I had to come back as soon as you called?”

“Your flock had a problem tonight.”

The expression on Rupert’s face changed from anger to anxiety

“They overcame it, with their usual style. Your Xander took a blow to the head, though, and he’s upstairs sleeping it off. “

Rupert climbed the stairs three at a time to check on him and Ethan followed close behind. In the doorway he froze, staring, and then slowly turned so they were face to face.

“What the fuck is going through your head?” he snarled.   
“Come and sit down, Rupert. It’s well past time we talked about that submissive pup of yours.”

“Stop fucking calling him mine. Besides, I’m not moving until you tell me what the devil you think you’re doing.”

“It wasn’t a request, Rupert. Come and sit down.”

“I don’t care whether it was a fucking request or not. You’ll tell me, and you’ll do so now.”

Ethan’s eyes flashed, and as it stalked towards him it seemed to grow to fill the tiny space in the hallway.

“You will do as I say, and you will do so now. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

He still crossed his arms. He looked like it would take an act of apocalyptic proportion to shift him.

“You get rid of that and I will.”

“You are in no position to make demands of me. If you are concerned about him, then check him over. If you can hold yourself in check for ten minutes, then come and sit down.”

With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and one last glance toward the boy secured loosely to the headboard, he followed down the stairs and into the lounge. He still wasn’t going to sit down and pretend to be calm, though.

“You can’t do this,” Rupert’s voice was a choked whisper.

“I’m not going to do anything, Rupert, aside from talk to you.”

“Go ahead, then. Talk,” he spat, “Give me one fucking reason to be rational. Tell me that isn’t what I think it looks like. Please,” the last word was a whisper, again.

“It isn’t. Tell me, how did he smell to you under the stars?”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question, Rupert.”

“Good. He… He’d have smelt good to anything, though. Part and parcel of the ‘enhanced senses’ thing.” He couldn’t keep a note of uncertainty out of his voice.

“Not for the last few weeks. Been spending a lot of time around him too, haven’t you?”

“Again, your point is?”

“He won’t smell like much of anything for the next few weeks, either. He’s in the last stages of youth already.”

Ethan looked at him, at the struggle playing across his face. He wasn’t stupid, but his reasoning could be very selective when he chose.

“If he were in the last stages of youth, then he would smell neutral to anyone. Besides, it takes a few months for the final transition.”

“Under normal circumstances that’s true. But he’s accepted your protection, and did so some time ago. With the time you’ve spent with him, he’s probably been carrying your scent for almost as long. You’ve been carrying his, I couldn’t help but notice. It’s enhanced the rate of his maturity. Your rejection of the other week has enhanced it further.”

“I didn’t reject…”

“Do you think a body knows a difference? He’s been avoiding you, so the body ages a little faster, smells a little better, to lure you back. For the next few weeks at the most you are the only thing that he will physically respond to, the only thing that he will be attractive to.”

“But I’m not a demon. I was careful, so careful,” that uncertainty had been replaced by fear and anger.

“It doesn’t matter, and you carry more than enough of my blood to trigger the reaction.”

“No. No. No!” his voice rose with each words, “It…it…it… no, it…it should be Willow.”

“No demonic blood, Rupert.”

“Or even… even Buffy,” He was desperately grasping at straws now.

“You’d wish this on her, when she would have no knowledge of what she was doing? Please, I know you better than that.”

“I don’t care. It should be someone of his…his own age, his own choice.”

“He may not have known what he was choosing, but he did make his own choice.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?!”

“Would it have made a difference?” Ethan challenged in that same calm tone.

Rupert chose to ignore the question, “You still should have said something.”

“I’m saying something now, Rupert. You already know what I’m getting at. If you do it now, while you are the only thing he’ll respond to, then it will mask his own scent a little later. Perhaps that would make his life a little easier.” 

The fact that Ethan was showing some tact didn’t matter. Rupert was shaking as he spun to face the vampire again, “Even the thought of it makes me feel sick. I… I…I… I couldn’t. I can’t. Not that.”

“Fine then. It’s not my problem. We’ll say no more of it.”

It watched as his face went from rage, to fear, to suspicion, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, go back upstairs and let him free. Send him out that door as soon as he wakes up, and we won’t say another thing about this. In another few weeks when he hits full maturity, or sooner perhaps if you plan to go back to avoiding him, then it will be out of your hands.”

It didn’t take long to process that, “You’re telling me to deliver a…a death sentence to someone who’s scarcely more than a child.”

“I said he’s not my problem, Rupert. I already have one human,” it said the word like it was a dirty thing, “to watch out for. I only offered you the choice because I felt that you might appreciate it. Your boy doesn’t mean a thing to me, outside of the chaotic potential that he represents. Of course, there’s always the possibility that whatever does claim him won’t kill him. Or that if something else does then it will be able to protect him from others, and put him to the purpose that he is meant to be used for.”

He knew exact what Ethan was doing. It had always been skilled at manipulation.

“Christ on a bike,” Rupert finally slumped back into a chair, head in his hands, “I…I honestly don’t know which would be worse.”

“Then give him a third option. I’m not going to offer you the chance again. You do this, and you take care of him.”

Rupert’s first thought was _you’d let me?_ His second was _do you honestly think I would be capable of that?_ He felt sick, and torn in himself. He felt like he had failed him.

“You never told him what he was, did you? If you feel the way you do when the shit hits the fan then why didn’t you give him the knowledge to make his own choices?”

He could say that he hadn’t considered what simply spending time with the boy might have done to him, but the truth was that if he had paid attention to his instinct then there was every chance that he would have realised.

“Why not talk to him? You may find him more reasonable than you ever were,” Ethan’s voice was still so fucking reasonable, and that didn’t seem fair, not when he wanted to make it scream, and yell at him. Not when he wanted to give himself an excuse to swing out at it, for what it had let him do.

His choice? Oh, sure, it was his choice between going upstairs to tell the boy exactly what he had done, and doing so to set him free before he nudged him awake and sent him out of the house. He could stand back and look sympathetically at the rest of the children as Buffy told them how she had found Xander’s body. She wouldn’t go into any detail about the state that he was in, of course, but she would be shocked and horrified, and adamant that he wasn’t going to rise again. She would also be determined to make sure that no-one else saw the body.

Or maybe the boy would simply vanish, never to be heard from again, until the demonic found a new leader amongst offspring born of his blood. Demonic inbreeding had a lot to answer for. The denizens of hell that walked the earth didn’t only get stronger and faster, they also got dumber. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had simply vanished in Sothern California, or even the first time that someone had vanished from Sunnydale.

“Make your choice, Rupert.”

He didn’t have the strength or desire to take a swing at it any more, not when he was the one felt disgusted with. The minutes dragged past, as he played through every possible scenario in his mind, before he hauled himself to his feet, and slowly made his way up the stairs.

The boy was just beginning to stir, eyelids fluttering. He could ask Ethan to cut him off from his own sense of morals, so that he just saw Xander as a piece of meat, a sweet little body to manipulate to his will. It would have been willing to do so. There was no doubt about that. But then he would still have to live with himself afterwards, and that was where that theory fell apart.

He gave the boy a tiny brush of magic, nudging him over that line between states of consciousness. All of the caution that he’d shown didn’t matter now, not with the boy in the last stages of adolescence and the decision already made for both of them.

He stood at the bedside watching, as his eyelids flickered and opened, and he lay there. It would be so much easier if he simply said to hell with morals’ and did it without offering the choice, but he had hated Ethan for years after what it had done. If he did this, then it would be a lot simpler if he were resented, rather than hated outright.

The boy’s eyes darted around the room as he tried to work out where he was, then settled on Rupert. He didn’t particularly like that flash of wariness in them.

“Hey, Giles,” Xander’s voice sounded a little rough, “my head feels like the school marching band had a practise session on top of it. I’m guessing this is your place?”

Rupert placed a pair of fingers at Xander’s left temple and soothed the nerve endings and muscle a little.

“Nice. Instant headache cure,” Xander said, “you should market it. You could make a fortune.”

He smiled grimly back, “Make yourself comfortable Xander. There’s something that we rather need to talk about.”

The boy sat up. There was more than enough give from the chain to allow it, but he still realized that something was there. As he watched the boy twisted around to see the chain running back to the headboard, and running through the frame.

“Okay, don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what the hell is going on here? Maybe even get rid of this thing?” he raised a hand to gesture towards the collar and chain, but stopped just short of touching it. There was a note of fear in his voice, but he was working hard to keep it suppressed, “Radical idea, I know, but most conversations tend to go better without the whole ‘being tied back’ deal.”

“I can’t loosen it.”

Actually, he could. This particular chain wasn’t enchanted against him, he could feel that much, but there was no point in letting him up, at least not right at this moment.

“What?”

“I… Ethan’s had that precaution in place for years. Only it can do so.”

“So, kinda hoping this is a strange way of stopping me from rolling off the bed, then?”

“Not exactly,” Rupert closed his eyes, trying to work out how exactly he was going to say this, or do it, “The…well, the truth of the matter is that you aren’t quite human.”

“Strange, considering I feel and look pretty fucking human,” fear was giving way to anger, which was a natural response.

“For… for the most part you are. It’s… what is different with you is more on a molecular level. You look, think, feel and act like a human. The only difference that it makes is that it… it’s possible for you, or someone like you to breed with those that are compatible and of demonic bloodline. It… It’s caused by a…”

“I don’t care what the fuck it’s caused by. You have got to be kidding me.”

Rupert shook his head, “I’m not. A sub…what you are is rather rare. Most demonic are weakened by inbreeding. A fresh influx of blood would make all the difference to some of them, which means there are quite a few out there that you will soon smell extremely attractive to, and a few such as your bug lady that could already smell it. There is a high chance that whatever tries to use you, will also try to kill you. The… craving towards sex and feeding are quite closely interwoven for a lot of the demonic.”

“Soon smell, you say?” he was looking pale, but he still tried to joke, “So I’m going to be walking around wearing Eu’De Demon? Isn’t there like an aftershave or something that I could use instead?”

“I… I…I’m afraid the only thing that would settle your body a little, and help mask some of the…the pheromones that it will produce, is by allowing nature to have its way. You are in the last weeks of your youth, and if… if you slept with someone… something now, then your body would react in a certain way to the presence of that one, and would respond less readily to other demons. I… I… and with the amount of time you’ve already spent with me your body is already responding on a basic level to mine.”

He’d thought that the boy couldn’t go any paler, but he was being proven wrong, “So, it’s pretty much a ‘sleep with me or find yourself dead’ deal, then?”

Rupert could recognize shock, He wondered how long it would take for it shock to break.

“I… If you want to know the truth, then I would have chosen to die,” Rupert forced himself to meet the boy’s gaze, “and if that… if that’s what you would prefer, then I’m prepared to grant it to you.”

“I’m seventeen, and you’re asking me if I want to die?! Fucking hell, Giles. Is this some great big cosmic joke to someone up there? Is it like, he thinks his life can’t get any fucking worse, so let’s prove him wrong?” There was that hysteria that he had been expecting before, “My life may have sucked big time, but that doesn’t mean I want to…to throw it away. In fact, right about now I want you to get out of my sight!”

Rupert could see the sense in that; it would give him the time to get into the mind-frame that he would need for this. He reached forward to brush the boy’s hair back, and hated the way that he drew away from him. He was still a boy, yes, but he wouldn’t be a child for much longer.


	13. 12 - Twist of Emotion (Guilt)

Wordcount: 6,143

** Chapter 12 – Twist of Emotion (Guilt)  **

“The hands we’re dealt in time all show  
Some twisted kind of fate”  
\- Bloodbound – Twisted Kind Of Fate

**England 1981**

It was getting late in the day and March fifteenth was in only a week’s time. Rupert had only met with Deidre again three days ago. He had brewed the potion that they needed while looking back to her book for instructions at every other step, and he was sure that he had got it right. He wouldn’t have been prepared to take it otherwise.

After all, he may not have feared for his life, but he saw no reason for his possible death to be a painful one. Any one of the ingredients in the potion alone was extremely toxic, and if everything in it wasn’t in perfect balance then the dragon venom in it would ensure days of prolonged agony before he and anyone else that took it passed away.

He had used his friend Mike to pass cash on to her, and had left everything else in her hands. Mike, in return, had passed the occasional message back to him; that she had secured the dragon’s teeth, that she had found the occasional other person to work with, that a werewolf in their area had been killed by the new Slayer a week ago and that she had found a half-demon that was prepared to be the host for possession.

Today he was meeting the rest of the people that they would be working with, and they would begin the ritual to tie them to the summoning. He and the host wouldn’t be a part of that, though. Instead Eyghon was meant to recognize them both on their own merits, and speak to them itself, on the last new moon before the New Year, after the rest of the circle had been marked. The last moon was in three night’s time then the summoning itself would be four nights after that. The good thing about being hard-pressed for time was that it shouldn’t give Ethan enough time to find out what was going on.

Deidre had asked him, or rather, told him to steer clear of her flat and he had respected that wish. The place they were meeting wasn’t far off the abandoned factory that Ethan liked to use as a training ground for hand-to-hand and strategy. 

Of course he was the first to arrive. He made a point of showing up early, so that he could observe the arrival of the group of people that Deidre had gathered. He had always been able to get a good insight into people from a first impression.

The first person to show was a bloke that looked to be in his late teens. He moved with an economic grace, like no-one had a right to question where he walked, he was skinny, on the wrong side of thin, and his head was framed by ragged-cut limp black hair. His clothing was rough, but looked comfortable, and his ice-blue eyes darted around, looking into every corner before they settled on him. The power that surrounded him was at odds with his small frame, but that was the way it often was with magic. Only those that really needed it ever really developed it, if they weren’t born with the ability.

He frowned as he saw Rupert, “You know you shouldn’t really be here tonight, little man. We don’t take kindly to strangers hanging around. If you leave now you can even walk away.”

His voice had a depth and timbre that was also unexpected, something about it that reminded him of rolling thunder, heard from a distance before the first drops of rain were felt. Even without probing him magically Rupert would bet his last dollar that this fellow wasn’t human. After living with a predator for as long as he had one learned to recognize the signs.

“Nice try. Let me guess, you’re part demon.,” this time he did brush him lightly with the smallest thread of power, “You can call me Ripper. I’ll be orchestrating the spell, if everyone’s in.”

That cold gaze flicked over him, and Rupert felt a brush of probing magic in return. It was only practise that stopped his own power from rising to meet it, so that the guy didn’t get a lock on how strong he was. He had never liked letting a stranger know everything that he was capable of, if he could help it.

“Ripper, huh? I’m Randal. Stenarchian, on my father’s side. So how you get that handle?”

Rupert raised an eyebrow, “Does it matter how or why? I’ll be working with you, not moving in with you.”

Randal looked at him, “Fucking hell, I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Don’t bother. Ripper doesn’t get on well with anyone.”

Both men looked towards the door, as Deidre came in. Her skirt ended well above her knees, and the white blouse she wore had short sleeves. Rupert hadn’t thought she’d owned clothing like it. He nodded towards her, “Deidre. All dressed up, I see.”

“Do us a favour, Ripper?”

“Hmm?”

“Stick it.”

He grinned at her, and then turned his attention back to Randal, “So, Randy. What did you want out of this?”

“Power. My father isn’t just Stenarchian; he’s also one of the heads of the pack down this way. I’m first-born, which means that his position should be mine when he dies, but being half-human I doubt I’ll get a look-in, unless I have power to make a proper challenge.”

Power. That answer was an Achilles Heel in itself if he’d ever heard one, and with it, it was obvious that Randal didn’t know his culture half as well as he should have. The Stenarchian respected power, that much was true, and Randal probably had had a thin time of it, being half-human, but if he earned a position at the head of the pack himself then there was no doubt that the rest of the pack would respect it. Being first-born meant that he should have had more opportunity than most to prove himself, as well. If he wasn’t given the respect due a first-born, then there would be a very good reason for that.

Unlike a lot of the demonic, the Stenarchian didn’t encourage violence simply for the sake of violence, or needless cruelty. Nor would they allow an insane pack member to survive. In fact, even compared to humans the Stenarchian were remarkably reasonable and honourable. Perhaps they were rather archaic, but demons had been responsible for far worse crimes.

“So you think Eyghon will give you that power you want?”

“I know it will. It’s something with power over life and death, right? So what better way to manipulate the living?”

Rupert was careful not to let any scorn show. 

So, the half-demon was an idiot. What did he think he was going to do, cut a deal with an elder demon from the tiny, remanning corner of his mind that would still be his once it had possessed him? Or perhaps that it would lend him its strength, and share control of his body with him? A possession of this magnitude would be total, and even if it were not, then there was no imaginable reason why an elder demon would chose to interfere with a pack’s version of politics.

“Sure thing, mate,” Rupert turned away and Deidre caught his eye. In response to her half-smile, he smirked, knowing that Randal couldn’t see it, “good picking, Dee.” He kept his tone as neutral as possible.

She raised an eyebrow, as though to say _really_ , and he nodded to her. He took her bag off her, dropped to a cross-legged position, and unzipped the top of it. Even through his jeans the concrete floor was cool.

“So, how many more have we got coming?” he asked, as he pulled out a jar that was quarter filled with a thick dark liquid that was only just discernable as midnight blue when he tilted the jar up then let the liquid run back down the side. There were few commonly called for items that were more difficult to get a hold of than what came from a dragon. The jar of blood that he was holding wouldn’t have been worth any less than three hundred, even for such a small amount, and some would have been able to sell it for two or three times that again.

“Five. One more woman and four blokes. Names are…”

“I don’t care about names. Names are for people you have to get to know, and I’d rather not know the names of people I doubt I’ll ever see again. If anything goes wrong, then it’s a hell of a lot easier to walk away from nameless bodies.”

“Harsh attitude, Ripper.”

“I prefer to think of it as realistic,” he pulled out another jar, this one filled with powdered charcoal. He sat it on the ground beside the dragon’s blood, and then glanced up towards Randal, who was pacing and glancing towards the door every few minutes.

“Do you think we have enough there?” Deidre nodded towards the blood, as Rupert reached into the bag again, pulling out a knife wrapped in leather, a worn crockery bowl that was covered with glaze cracks, and the book.

“We should have. It’s a shame, though, that everyone has to be done when only five will see the other side of the summoning, though.”

“Only five?” Deidre frowned at him.

“Need a sacrifice, don’t we?”Rupert’s voice was a low hiss, so that Randal didn’t overhear.

Deidre jerked, pulling away Rupert, and stared at him with wide eyes, “You… you… you said that before, but I didn’t realise you meant a… a…”

“A person?” his voice was still a whisper, “Did you actually think a cat or dog would be enough to entice something with Eyghon’s strength? Or can you not wrap your head around the idea of a human sacrifice? It’s one life to pay the way for all of us, princess, and I don’t think your Randal there is the type to flinch back from taking a life. In fact, chances are, he probably already has.”

“How the fuck can you even talk about something like that and act so cavalier about it?”

“Because I know what’s necessary in this world, and I’m prepared to do it. I know this world isn’t a nice place, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. It’s not going to give you a free fucking pass for acting humane, is it? No, instead others will walk all over you.”

“But that…”

“Oh, get off your high bloody horse, Dee. You’re no better or worse than I am. How many people do you think will pay the ultimate price because you turned your back on your old life? How many people have probably died already, trying to track you down? You want the Council off your back permanently. How many innocents will pay for your selfishness if you’re ever Called?”

She stormed away from him, crossing to the other side of the room, but he noted with dark satisfaction that she didn’t leave. Randal watched her, and then glanced at Rupert and quickly away again as he saw the cold anger in the other man’s expression.

Then the door opened again, and the other five came in at once. Rupert stood, keeping hold of the dragon’s blood, and placed everything else on an old bench nearby. The last thing that they could afford was for that to break. It would be impossible to get hold of more on such short notice.

Rupert recognized Thomas, but the other four were new faces. One girl, four guys, just as Deidre had said. He nodded in their direction, as he carefully probed the strangers with a tendril of magic. The woman was reasonably powerful, two of the guys weren’t much more than average and the final man wouldn’t ever be able to do much more than basic warding on a good day, or perhaps float a pencil.

“Thomas,” Rupert managed a faint smile, for the man clad in a denim jacket, “joining us, I see. So, what happened to your ‘magic isn’t real, even though I’ve seen demons’ attitude?”

“Figured if anyone could prove it to me, then it would be you.”

Rupert nodded, then looked to the others, and gestured for them to gather around. Everyone crossed the room to stand near him, aside from Deidre. He caught her eye, and stared at her, waiting, until she finally gave up her position and came to stand behind the other woman.

“So, I’m assuming that we’re all on the same page, people. We all know what we’ll be doing in a week. This is the last chance any of you will get to back out.”

He looked around the circle one by one, as they nodded.

Then the woman that was standing in front of Deidre pushed a few strands of red hair behind her ear, and cleared her throat, “So, you not going to do the old twenty questions?”

Rupert shook his head, “You’re here. That’s all I need to know. Once we’ve done the actual summoning we won’t need words between us, anyway. So, if you’re in take your shirt off and step up to the bench, here.”

To Rupert’s surprise the least powerful of the blokes was the first to step forward, as Rupert finally loosened the lids on the jars, poured the powder and blood into the bowl, opened the book from Deidre’s backpack to the page that he needed and unwrapped the knife that she had brought. It was wicked-sharp and pure silver, with no pattern on it.

“Give me your arm.”

The guy did it without hesitation, but Rupert could see a touch of fear in his hazel eyes that he was obviously making an effort to keep at bay, as he picked up the knife, glanced once at the intricate design in the book and then angled the knife blade against the flesh of his forearm.

“Got a name, my friend?” Rupert tried to put him a little more at ease.

“Lawrence. Lawrence Stine.”

“Not a bad ring to it. Now, the knife is sharp enough that this won’t really hurt,” he said in a reassuring tone, as he made the first cut, “that will only happen when the dragon’s blood is added to it. All accounts say that it burns like fire under the skin, but the pain won’t last for all that long.”

“Okay.” The guy made sure to keep perfectly still under the knife, so that Rupert didn’t slip, and within twenty minutes he was done.

“Someone get me some water,” Rupert snapped, “there’s a sink over against the wall, and another bowl in the backpack.”

He didn’t see who jumped to do it, focused as he was on the man before him, who had gone slightly pale, and was staring blankly at his arm, and the blood running down it. The water was placed on the bench, and Rupert tore the cloth in half, and soaked it, using that to clear the blood off. Then he dipped the other half of the cloth into the bowl containing the mixture that was their ink, and rubbed it over the mark that he had cut. It was less than a second before the guy pulled back, hand pressing against his forearm, lips pressed thin, eyes glazed with pain.

“Next please,” Rupert said, pleasantly.

The dragon blood would ensure that the mark had heeled in a few days at the most.

**Sunnydale 1998**

“Out so soon, Rupert?” Ethan glanced up as Rupert cut through the lounge and pulled open a drawer on the far side of the room, grabbing out a whiskey bottle that he’d left in there. No point in going for a glass. He didn’t need one tonight.

Ignoring it he threw himself down in one of the chairs, and twisted the top off the bottle to take a large swallow. Seconds later the bottle was being pulled out of his hands. Rupert raised his head and glared at Ethan, trying to kill it with willpower alone.

“I can’t fucking do this… something like this… I can’t do it straight. If… if… if… if it comes to… to what it might, then I can’t do it like this. I… I’m not sure that I can see him throw his life away,” he admitted, his voice a strangled whisper, “So give the fucking bottle back, you cunt.”

“You need a clear head, not an addled brain and softened body.”

“No, a clear head is the last thing I need right about now.”

“You know at least a dozen other ways to get what you want.”

At the moment he was loath to follow any of Ethan’s advice, perhaps even more so because it made sense. But that was the problem, it did make sense. 

He had been stupid, so, so stupid, not considering that he might affect the boy. He shouldn’t have had enough of Ethan’s blood in him to do so. The boy shouldn’t have been as close to maturity as he obviously was. Jessie, the friend that he had originally chosen should have still been around, and it would have been even better that he were a vampire. He should have sat the boy down, and forced the necessary conversation.

_Ha. Should have, would have, and could have. Didn’t, wouldn’t, and couldn’t._

Thinking about the past wasn’t going to change it. Now, they both had to live with it. But what more was another stain on his already darkened soul, really? It didn’t actually matter any more, did it? Working with a Slayer was a chance to atone, one that he’d never thought he would get. But there would be no making up for this.

There was only one thing that he could do now, and that was give him a little more time to come to terms with his future. He knew that Ethan had been completely serious when it had said that this was a one-time deal, but if he carried his scent properly, then that would settle his body back down, and give him those few extra weeks that he should have had in the first place. It wasn’t enough time to change a way of thinking, but it would be a damn sight better than nothing.

Drawing his legs up onto the chair and crossing them, he rested his hands on his knees and focused on the sound and feel of his breathing. In, and out, in and out. If he thought about things, actually thought about them, then he knew that there was no way his composure would last. 

He closed his eyes, and visualised an electric charge in the air, carrying what he felt that he so desperately needed. A way to disconnect, a way to make things easier, not just for himself but for the frightened young man up there. He needed power in his fingertips, something that he could spread with a touch, and he couldn’t go so far under that he forgot himself.

Twisted quasi-Latin fell easily from his lips. This wasn’t a spell that he had ever used before, but he understood the theory behind it well enough. Already, he could feel power, energy crackling through his fingertips, moving through his body. It was impossible to think or to focus on any one thing, this much power at his beck and call. All those worries and concerns that he’d had fell to the wayside, and the sound of his own heartbeat, sending the wild magic coursing through his veins was the most fascinating sound in the world.

He hadn’t heard Ethan go, but it was gone. His skin felt too tight, his clothing felt too restrictive. He could see patterns spinning through the air, and each one the he disrupted sent a different feeling though him. He was reeling from a sensual overload. He wasn’t as out of his head as he had been in the past, or even as far gone as on the night of Saint Vigeous. He was separated from himself in a completely different way. What he thought, and what he cared about didn’t matter any more. The only thing that mattered was that this feeling continue. 

He watched the air currents scattering as he moved through them, colour drifting as he breathed in and out, mixing colour with colour and creating shades that he had never seen before, as he mounted the stairs one more time. He could see the outline of the bed, hazy and inconsistent, and yet the person on it was the complete opposite, glowing and pulsing, bright-dark-bright-dark with each heartbeat. His breath mixed with the air, several shades brighter than Rupert’s, untarnished and young as he was.

“Your eyes are black. It’s kind of freaking me out, right now.”

He heard the words, but didn’t get what they meant. It was just another noise, as far as he was concerned. Just another marker of time, no more important that the tick of a clock, completely inconsequential to him.

Moving his head closer he inhaled, drawing in the scent of the boys breath. Then, reaching out a hand he stroked the back of his fingers against Xander’s cheek, and heard him gasp at the first skitter-shot hint of magic playing over his skin. He shushed him gently, and rested both hands on either side of his head, holding him throughout his squirming, until his eyes glazed a little, and his body relaxed.

“I’ll give you time, and make it good for you,” his voice was no more than a whisper, as he ran a pair of fingers down the side of Xander’s face, then pressed them lightly over the pulse-point in his neck, simply feeling it, taking in the differences. He’d always imagined that Ethan felt like a human might after it had fed, but that had been wrong. There was living, delicate warmth here, rather than sculptured flesh.

Even when it had fed a sort of heated chill remained, just under the surface of its skin. It was hard to describe, but there were differences. Xander was…he was delicate. Not in the sense that he was weak in any way, but he was distinctly human and humans were delicate. They were soft, and easily breakable.

He could kill this person, even if he weren’t chained back. All it would take was a little pressure right here…he pressed his fingers in against the pulse-point a little harder… or a little more exertion to cave his ribs in. There was something intoxicating, in holding a life in his hands, in the fact that it was his to do what he wanted with, and the human under him couldn’t do a single thing about it. He could take him high or bring him crashing down, give him the means to thrive, or kill him in a heartbeat. If this were part of the attraction that Ethan found in him, then he wasn’t entirely sure that he could blame it.

As he drew a hand down his covered chest, then cupped Xander through his pants his scent became so much richer. He drove him higher and higher, touching what skin he could, and let the power at his fingertips do its work.

Raising a hand, he drew his fingers over the boy’s lips, then leaned forward and brushed his lips against Xander’s. They were dry and loose against his, but firmed up a little as Rupert grasped the side of his chin, and slipped his tongue into his mouth, stroking it against Xander’s. Xander moaned and pushed back, the magic going to his head far quicker than Rupert would have expected it to.

He felt hands on his shoulders, flicked his gaze down to the boy’s face, and felt a kick of self-disgust that was muted by the magic as he looked at the waring emotions on his face. Self-hatred and betrayal yes, but also want and need. Desire. He wouldn’t know whether he wanted to shove him away or hold him closer.

He knew what was going through the boy’s mind, because he’d been there before. It wasn’t much of a compensation, but at least he could make this, Xander’s first time far better, far less intrusive than his own had been. The boy only had to carry his scent, which meant that there was a line that he could draw for now.

“That’s it, relax,” he breathed into Xander’s ear, before taking his earlobe in between his teeth, and sucking lightly on it, running his fingers over Xander’s face and neck. He knew what the spell would be doing to him, and he wanted him so out of his head on hormones hat he wouldn’t be thinking straight, or about what was happening. Grasping his chin he pushed his head to the side and ran his tongue over the shell of his ear, dipping just inside.

The boy shivered under the touch, bitting at his lip to keep himself quiet as Rupert kissed down the side of his neck. He licked under his chin finding a spot that must have been sensitive, because it drew a giggle from him which caused the colours in the air to spin and shift wildly. He knew about tenderness. Ethan hadn’t always been harsh and brutal with him. Forceful, yes, and demanding, and thoughtless by a human’s perception, but it had only ever truly been cruel, by a demon’s terms, when it had been reprimanding him.

Again, he kissed him up over his jaw line and sought his warm lips, light, teasing brushes over his clean-shaved skin, before he pushed his tongue into his mouth again, and slid his hands under that ridiculous poncho, to tug his top free from his waistband and run his hands over the smooth expanse of stomach and chest that he found there.

He felt Xander start at the contact, but a tongue drawn up the side of his neck, and the burst of magic that accompanied it was enough to sooth him again. Pressing his lips to the faint scar that was on the side of his neck he played his tongue over the rough flesh.

Xander whined, making the sound deep in the back of his throat, and as another scattershot burst of magic shot up through his muscle, and Rupert’s thumb brushed over a nipple he arched up, towards Rupert. The nipple had hardened quickly under his light touch, and he grasped the bottom of Xander’s shirts and slid them up past his head, leaving them on his arms so that the material bound his arms together. 

It wasn’t something that would hold him if he didn’t want it to. With one hand he encouraged Xander to raise his head from off the pillow. 

“Put your arms back, then put you head back down.”

Xander did as he was asked, eyes still half-glazed, and the older man settled back onto his haunches, sitting so that he was on Xander’s legs as he looked at the sight before him. Pale chest, darker around the nipples. Not quite a six-pack there, either, but definitely a young man’s sinewy strength. The dominance and power that he felt in that moment was startling.

 _Mine. This is mine._ The thought startled him, but didn’t break his mindset.

In that moment he wanted to take him hard, leave his marks; scratches, bites, bruises and the like across his skin. He wanted to make this something that the boy would never forget, something that would tie him to him, even if he eventually sought to leave. The only thing that stopped him from doing it all was the look in his eyes, trust coupled with fear. Even though he was half out of his mind on the magic that had been fed to him he was still afraid. That meant that he had to pretend to be humane, and play nice.

He smiled and the expression didn’t feel out of place. The air fed him more of those pulsing, breathing colours and living crescendos of sound that cut into the natural world, tearing it apart and remaking it heartbeats later. Reaching down he undid Xander’s trousers and tugged them and his pants down just far enough to free the straining erection inside. 

Lowering his head and putting one arm down on either side of him, he kissed the tip of Xander’s cock, flicking his tongue out over the salt drip that was gathering there. Xander’s curse was just as meaningless as anything else that he had said. He bucked his hips off the bed, and Rupert swallowed around his cock with a skill born of years of practise. A hand that Xander had obviously freed tangled into his hair, and Rupert pulled back off him as Xander tried to hold his head down.

“Fuck you,” Xander snarled, voice rough with desire, the magic destroying all common sense.

Rupert used the moment to shrug out of his top and loosen his jeans, shoving them down as far as they would comfortably go. Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply, and the way that the boy smelled to him in this moment was almost enough to make him forget his resolve again. He opened his eyes just in time to see Xander’s widen as he let his gaze stray south.

Again, Rupert lowered his head to Xander’s cock, and this time he licked up the underside of it, then took one of his balls lightly in his mouth, and sucked on it. He could feel the shudder go through Xander’s entire body, and he palmed his other ball, stroking it lightly.

When pulled back it was released with a faint pop, and Rupert took Xander’s entire cock in his mouth, and swallowed around it timing his breathing as he moved his head up and down. It was the work of less than a minute to get him to the point where he was sweating, and his cock was twitching in Rupert’s mouth. He wrapped his fingers around the base of it to stop him from coming and drew back. He held him as he squirmed and writhed, until the moment had passed.

Twisting his hand he grasped Xander’s cock, and began to move it up and down his length, as he grasped his own with the other, and began to masturbate himself, fast and furious. He matched the pace with the hand on Xander, and unused to it as the other was, it was only a short moment before he shuddered and jerked, as his orgasm took him, and he came, shooting over Rupert’s hand, and back over himself.

Rupert slowed the movement against Xander’s cock, but didn’t stop it entirely, as though he wanted to wring every last drop out of him. Flicking his own thumb up he ghosted it over the head of his cock, and that was enough to bring him to his own orgasm. He shot it over Xander’s chest, then with a growl let go and reached forward, rubbing his come into the skin that was there.

_More than one way to skin a cat, after all._

Xander gasped and writhed at the bite of magic, as Rupert’s finger’s moved over his chest, rubbing and stroking. As far as a claim went, it wouldn’t hold for long. He would have to do more soon, but it was enough to settle his hormones for now. 

The magic was still beating out its rhythm in his mind, as Rupert tugged his jeans the rest of the way off and pulled his boxers back up, then did the same for Xander and slowly stood. He wasn’t going to give away the fact that he could have undone the chain, but there was something else he could do. Slowly, taking care with where he stood he headed to the bathroom and ran a towel under the facet, which he brought back to wipe Xander down with.

It would have been better if he’d headed back down the stairs, to sleep on the couch, but he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Instead he lay down in the bed beside him, and pulled the blankets over them. Then he flicked a hand towards the light, shutting it off, and with another sure brush of magic nudged Xander towards sleep. 

He closed his eyes. This spell was one that he could get used to. No morals, no responsibilities. Within minutes he was asleep.

**XXX**

The warmth next to him was nice, and the heartbeat under his head was as soothing as the sound of the waves breaking against a beach. But Rupert couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Exactly what that was hit him seconds later as he opened his eyes, and bolted from the bed. He made it just inside the bathroom door, before he stumbled and went down on his hands and knees, retching then throwing up on the linoleum just before the toilet-bowl.

Sure, he hadn’t fucked him, but what fucking difference did it make? He may as fucking well have got it over and done with. By marking Xander with his scent, he had completely removed any last vestige of choice that either of them had. Not that there really had been another practical option, but maybe a few weeks would have made all the difference.

Maybe a miracle would have happened, not that he believed in them any more.

His shoulders were shaking, and over the ragged pant of his breathing he didn’t hear the sound of footsteps coming up behind him, wasn’t aware of anything until a cool hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Don’t you touch me you fucking bastard.”

The hand withdrew, and Rupert glared back at Ethan, murder in his eyes.

“Are you proud of yourself, turning me into a monster like you are?” he spat, “I hated myself once before, but I despise myself now. Why don’t you just fucking bite me and be done with it? Or do you enjoy seeing me loose myself and who I am?” towards the end his voice almost broke.

“No, Rupert. You know I won’t. Besides, you wanted him, didn’t you?”

“Not like this! I wanted to keep him safe!”

“You made your own bed.”

Rupert felt rage boiling through him. He couldn’t hear the rest of its words, as he lashed out with the wildest magic that he could wrap his hands around, throwing it back out into the hallway. Using the few seconds that he knew he had, he shoved to his feet and stormed past it.

Pausing only to pull on jeans and a tee-shirt he reached the front door and went to throw it open, only to find that the handle wouldn’t move in his grasp. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, away from the walls that were closing in on him, and the trapdoor that had sprung shut behind him.

“Let me out,” he snarled, not glancing back.

Ethan’s voice came from the foot of the stairs, not far behind him, “No, Rupert. I’m not stupid. The last thing you need is to be out there.”

“I don’t care whether you think you’re stupid or not. Let me out the fucking door.”

“No.”

He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do. Throw himself at the Slayer’s feet, beg for her mercy? Once she found out what he had done to one of her closest friends, then she would have none towards him. She would probably kill him herself, if Willow didn’t get to him first.

Of course he couldn’t do anything if he couldn’t get out of here.

“Why the hell not?”

“Why do you think, Rupert? You’re going to simply walk out on that pup of yours?”

“As if you give a damn,” he snarled.

Finally he twisted, to look over his shoulder at it. A part of him wanted it desperately to refute that, even now, with everything that he knew about it.

“You do, though. You’ll hate yourself even more if you walk away right now. Go back upstairs and set his free. Give him the run of the house for the day, and for your own sake, talk to him. If you think that I’m going to watch you go backwards then you’re sorely mistaken.”

That glint in its dark eyes was both a promise and a threat. _What do you think you can get away with? What do you think I’ll let you get away with?_

He knew that he could argue with it until the stars came out again, but it wouldn’t make a difference. There was no way that Ethan would ever give in to him. It never had.


	14. 13 – Twist of Emotion (Acceptances and Anger)

Wordcount: 5,964

** Chapter 13 – Twist of Emotion (Acceptances and Anger) **

“You’ll dance with the demon tonight  
Between good and evil”  
\- Bloodbound – Crucified 

**England 1981**

The only light in the room was cast by candles. Randal stood directly in front of Rupert, and the rest of the circle was loosely gathered around the outside of them. The atmosphere in the room was tense, but also full of anticipation. Only he and Deidre knew all the stakes. Randal had his own goal, and for the rest of them, this probably wasn’t much more than a game.

It would be interesting to see how long that mindset would last for, once blood started flowing. It was hard to see something as a game once that happened. Rupert felt dirty even considering it, but he knew enough about sacrifice to know that sometimes people had to wade through the shit to get what they wanted.

He had set a trapdoor spell, something that would allow people into the room, but not out of it. There was every chance that they would need it, too, if anyone was left with enough sense to pay attention to what was going on once the ritual started. Sex had a habit of being rather distracting, and the highly ritualized magic that they were going to be casting would help create a false sense of intimacy. There was also the fact that after swigging on the potion he had made, they would all be pretty out of it.

It was finally time to make one more push for freedom, possibly the last one that he would make. If the spell succeeded then he would be free, and if it didn’t, then he doubted he would ever have another chance at this. He would probably be dead, or kept under constant supervision by Ethan.

It was cold, far colder than it should have been. The candles gave off more than enough light, but they didn’t do anything in the way of heat. Goosebumps had erupted over the skin of his arms and legs to try and keep the heat in. 

He let his gaze wander over the others, as he reached down. He grasped the hip-flask that was on one side of him, and removed the lid with a flick of his thumb, and then picked up the jar that was on his other side. Holding it out towards the light he poured in roughly half the mixture, only stopping when the flask began to steam from the top.

He cleared his throat, “Only take a sip. Any more that that and you won’t be complaining about the effects tomorrow morning.”

“Huh?” one of the men enquired.

“Very, very potent. Too much and you’ll be dead inside the hour,” Rupert clarified, “As it is, you won’t know up from down, nor left from right. Also strips inhibitions more efficiently than any drug.”

One of the blokes giggled at that.

Raising the flask Rupert took a small swallow of the brew, wincing at the acidic, bitter flavour and the way that it burned down his throat. He handed it over to Randal, and after Randal had taken a swallow he handed it out, around the rest of the circle. By the time that it had done the round and was handed back to him his hand felt as though it was disconnected from him, almost like it was moving through water.

Rupert focused on Randal’s eyes, as he let his sense of power play around him, plucking the strings of magick in the room as though he was weaving a tune out of the air. Blackness flared up in Randal’s eyes, and Rupert focused on the power that branched out from himself, and from Randal, spreading through each of them in the room. He tugged at each string, testing its strength, hunting for any discord amongst the whole, as sounds and sights spun around him.

A muted background of flesh-tones and the smell of musk danced around the edges of his perception. Apparently it didn’t take much to get a room full of high, horny youths naked.

When he had finished weaving the power in the room together, and was certain of the strength in the pattern, which was something the Ethan had taught him to check, he tugged at it with everything that he had, a single, sharp, violent movement. Randal’s eyes flashed from black to a sickly shade of green for the briefest moment, and he wasn’t particularly surprised that it was Lawrence who fell forward, crossing the line between the inner circle and the outer one.

If he had doubted they’d had Eyghon’s attention before then he didn’t doubt it now. In a movement that looked a lot smoother than it felt, he grabbed the man by the hair and forced him up so that he was on his knees in front of the dragon’s skull bowl that was there, and pulled his head back. He felt that great gaping chasm between himself and his morals, as he pressed the knife to his throat. 

He looked at Randal again, at his face which was flicking between human, the demon race he carried blood from, and something so old that it looked reptilian. The others in the outer circle had frozen the second poor old Lawrence had gone over.

“Do…” he cleared his throat, and started again, “do you hear me?”

Randal’s features stopped flickering, human again, but his expression was cold and uncaring, and his eyes gave the demon away, as they were far darker green than was humanly possible, and glowed in the shadows.

“I hear.” The voice was grating, like the words had been formed by a throat that was unaccustomed to human speech, and didn’t to anything to dispel the impression of great age. This beast was something that had been old when humanity was a distant future dream, “I hear children that want to play with a power they don’t have a chance of comprehending.” 

All of a sudden Rupert felt very, very young. He could see a faint outline outside of Randal’s body, something that was far larger than the man himself had ever been.

“Are you going to feed me, little anchor?” the voice sounded mocking, but somehow still indifferent, “If you don’t think you have the guts, then I’ll show yours to you. I need a life, and I can just as easily take yours instead.”

Rupert felt a distant pain as hands scrabbling at his forearm, nails digging in, as Lawrence tried to free himself. He locked eyes with the demon again, and fighting to keep his hand steady he drew the knife across the throat of the man in his hands. Blood ran down along the blade of the knife and over his fingers, shocking warmth against his skin, and he held him as he struggled to draw breath through the hole in his throat, making a gargling that he could only have described as _thick._ It was a sound that he knew he would follow him to his nightmares.

He held him for a moment longer, keeping him over the bowl that sat between him and the beast, letting the blood run into it. His struggles became weaker and weaker, and when they stopped he cast the body to the side, ignoring the dull eyes that stared accusingly, and that gash in his throat that was twisted like a mockery of a smile, leering up at him.

Dropping to his knees, Rupert grasped the bowl with one hand and held it up to the demon with his head bowed. It was lifted from his hands, and he heard the sound of swallowing, felt the power flowing into the demon that stood before him.

“Rise.” 

This time the demon’s voice sounded less like gravel, and more like the rumble before an earthquake. Rupert stood, still not looking to either side, to his companions who seemed strangely still. It seemed not everyone had known what was on the table after all. Looking up at it again, he saw that the human features had started to fall away once more. It grinned, to reveal knifelike teeth, as it dipped a thumb into the bowl, and traced a mark on his forehead in blood that was still warm enough to feel unnatural, and then looked around at the shocked humans gathered around.

 _Mostly shocked_ , Rupert amended. Deidre hadn’t flinched, which showed Rupert her true colours better than any conversation ever could.

“You pretend at innocence so well,” it spoke to the group as a whole this time, “but you have no need to pretend with me. Do any of you think that I have not looked inside each on of your minds since you took my sign as apart of your flesh? I knew all you darkest fears, and all your greatest dreams before you ever set eyes on me. I weeded out the weakest amongst you myself, and your dreams are what mine are,” it paused, “for a price. Everything has a price,” it purred. 

There was no response, only a feeling of fear that Rupert could almost taste.

“Did you think I only walked among the dead? I am the Sleepwalker, Lord of Humanity’s darkest hour. If you swear your allegiance to me, then you have nothing to fear, and everything to gain. Who out of you will be the first to swear it?”

“I am,” it was Deidre of course “I swear my service is yours.”

“You think that I only want your service? I want you very life, girl.”

Deidre lost some of that cocky confidence of hers, as she went pale, but she slowly nodded, “Forgive me.”

“Of course, daughter,” it reached out a hand, and smiling, cupped her cheek, like a parent might a child, then its eyes flashed dangerously, “but if it should happen again, then I will not be so forgiving.”

She winced, and when it pulled its hand away there were several gouges in the flesh of her cheek.

“And the rest of you children?” it asked, in a voice that was falsely sweet and alluring. One by one the others followed suit, obviously having taken their cue from Deidre, drawing their courage from hers.

It turned its attention back to him and took a step closer, the movement sinuous, again making him think of something reptilian, like a fucking snake looking down at a mouse. He was far from helpless, though.

“Then there was one,” it said to him, “and I don’t know your dreams. You haven’t let me in that head of yours,” it laughed, and the sound was even more like grating rocks, “but not to worry, soon you won’t have any, and I’ll have another body to feel the world through.”

He met its gaze, “No, you won’t. You said it yourself, that I’m your anchor. I – I called you here, and I have the power to send you back. You’re o – only here as long as I live, as long as I let you. That means that you have to work with me.”

Its smile widened, which wasn’t exactly the response that he had expected.

“Wrong.”

Rupert felt like a mouse that had just walked into a trap. He was used to fear, but what he felt now was more akin to terror. The eyes of the other people around them were glazed, as stoned on the magic and potion as they were.

“You are my anchor, you have that right. I tie myself to this world by using feeding on your magic and your life-force.”

It flicked a clawed hand towards him, and in those few seconds before the world fell away he had just enough time to realise just how badly he’d screwed up.

It felt like the air was being torn from his lungs. A massive hand was inside his chest, was on it, crushing his ribs and squeezing at his organs. A thousand needle-sharp claws tore at his heart, and fire raced through his blood, fire that got worse with every breath he struggled to take.

He felt clothing being torn off, cold air on his body that didn’t do anything to cool the fire inside him. He knew what it was; his magic being torn out of his soul, and forced into his body. Claws drove into his shoulders, and he wasn’t aware of going down although he must have, because the ground was under his knees. The fire, white-hot where its claws were driven in, intensified as he felt its already-considerable power piercing his skin, forcing even more out of him.

He couldn’t think beyond the pain. His throat was raw from screaming, although he couldn’t remember doing that, and his face was damp although he wasn’t sure whether it was from tears or blood spilled by the knifelike energy that was caressing his face. It didn’t matter.

He wanted to yell for help, but couldn’t form the words to do so, not through the pain. The world was wavering, going fuzzy at the edges. That was good. He wanted this to end. 

Then there was only silence. The weight lifted from his back, claws ripped from his flesh, and he wasn’t sure why it was letting him go, unless it wanted to savour its meal. He couldn’t hear anything through the ringing in his ears, couldn’t see anything through the white haze in front of his vision.

The pressure on his heart vanished, although he could still feel the fire burning under his skin. A cool hand touched his shoulder, and the world went away again.

**XXX**

Ethan pressed a pair of fingers to the side of Rupert’s neck to measure his pulse properly, and then looked at the people in the circle, who were coming out of the trance. The last time he had felt anger like this he had wiped out an entire village before the feeling had been sated.

It had been easy, to snap the neck of the boy who had been possessed, if only because the beast wearing his skin had been distracted. He only wished that he had been able to take his time, and make the fool scream, the way that his young idiot here had been screaming. 

He had heard the mental scream for help, and felt the danger that Rupert had been in from five blocks over, where he had been hunting. He would have felt it a country away.

His eyes narrowed as he stood and leaving Rupert where he lay advanced on the people that stood there looking like frightened sitting ducks. He was in full game face, and wouldn’t be dropping it for a good while yet.

One of them, a female with a little more backbone than the rest launched herself at him, spinning into a high kick. He caught her foot easily and threw her to the ground, twisting it savagely until he heard the sound of something snapping. There was a look of absolute repulsion and contempt on her face, in spite of the pain she must have been in.

“I’ll only ask this once. Which one of you worthless pieces of flesh own the book that this spell came out of?” 

There was no reply from any of them. His fingers found the spot where the bone had snapped, and it squeezed hard, twisting the limb again. A shrill, piercing scream rose from her, and the sound sent some small measure of satisfaction through him. He eased the pressure, after drawing a proper breath she spat at him.

“Very well, then. How about a different deal? You tell me what I want to know, and I won’t turn you and leave you locked up in a room with your friends here. Instead, I’ll give lot of you a quick, clean death.”

The contempt was still there in her eyes, but there was a healthy measure of fear there now, too.

“Going once. Going twice.”

“It’s mine,” said the girl at his feet, in a shaking, thin voice, “it’s mine.”

“Bring it along tonight, did you?”

“Bench,” she whispered, closing her eyes, as though if she couldn’t see him then he wasn’t there. It was rare that he saw a human so pale.

He glanced towards the bench and saw the grimore sitting in the far corner. The moment he looked away one of the males made a dash for the door, and grasped the handle, twisting and tugging at it. When that was ineffectual, he leaned back, putting all his weight into it.

“I’m no fool,” he spoke in a scathing tone “One more question, before I let the lot of you go. Whose idea was this?”

He wasn’t particularly surprised, although it added to his anger if such a thing were possible, when all gazes turned towards the girl at his feet, and the boy at his side. The boy at the door spoke this time.

“Dee sounded us out, but the idea was both of theirs.”

“Thank-you,” He crossed the room in a flash, and grasped the girl who was between the two men who were still standing there. He sunk his teeth in deeply, nicking the jugular, and fed quickly.

“You…you…you said you’d let us go,” the boy at the door said.

Ethan dropped the body, “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Soon you’ll all be gone.”

He stalked purposefully towards the huddle of boys.

“Now,” one of them yelled, and they charged him as a group, still obviously hoping that at least one of them might get out of this alive. He sidestepped the one in the centre, and then tripped the one on the left, grabbing his head as he fell, to give him some extra momentum. His skull made a wicked crack against the concrete, and his heart stopped instantly. It was quick work to snap the necks of the other two, before he turned back to the girl, Dee, who was simply laying there with a look of resignation in her eyes.

He grabbed her by the hair, and hauled her up to eye level, as she gasped, “I should make you scream, and beg me to kill you. That sort of pain adds such a spice to the blood. Fortunately for you, I haven’t the time for it.”

Dropping her again, he went to his knees so that he could slip an arm under hers and pull her back against his chest. This time took his time to feed, savouring the flavour of her blood as he did. It was smooth, and sweet with just a hint of fire, a whisper of her promise of power. The energy that it sent coursing through his body was incredible.

Letting go of her he turned his attention back to Rupert, who was on his back on the floor, drawing shaking breaths in through his teeth. Drawing a hand back, he slapped him across the face reasonably gently all things considered, and he drew a massive gulp of air, and opened his eye for a second, before closing them again.

“…hurts…” Rupert’s voice was weak, and clear streaks cut through the blood that had seeped out of several of the pores on his face.

He tried to roll over, and made it as far as his side. Ethan could see that his back, shoulders and chest were also a mess of fine, leaking lines, and the area where the beast’s claws had been driven into his skin was black at each of the penetrations. It would take a lot of effort to keep an infection from setting it.

“Oh, I’d believe that. I suppose you realise how incredibly stupid this was as well.”

With one arm he picked Rupert up, and held him to his chest as he stood, which meant that Rupert’s next words were spoken into his ear, “You’ll pu…punish me again.”

It was a statement that he could still hear fear in, even with the pain that Rupert was already in.

“No, not this time,” he crossed the room, and grabbed the grimore from where it was sitting, and then shifted Rupert so that he was in both of his arms.

“You won’t?”

“Don’t think you’re getting off lightly. There will be several times over the next few weeks when you’ll wish I had killed you tonight as well,” he headed towards the door, and opened it with magic, rather than trying to use the handle “Your own power has to drive every last drop of that demon’s essence out of you. It will be like a fever, it will have to burn it from you. The pain that you feel now is going to get a lot worse before your life-force starts to heal, and with you as tainted as you are, adding my blood to the mix would kill you.”

Still holding Rupert as gently as possible, he looked down the street for a car that he could take.

Rupert didn’t reply, and although his eyes were shut Ethan knew that he would be in too much pain to sleep.

**Sunnydale 1998**

Xander rested on his side, staring at the wall through blank eyes, mind churning and trying to process everything. He thought he’d known himself, but that was obviously wrong. Apparently he hadn’t even known what he was, let along who, when at least two people had, 

He could hear the rain beating down on the roof, rain that he couldn’t see through the blackened windows, and it felt like it was a million miles away, something that he would never be able to touch again.

He wasn’t sure how he was meant to react, or respond. Anger seemed like a good place to start, but that seemed beyond him. He felt let down; by his parents for not being all that they had claimed to be, by his own body, and by Rupert himself, who he had began to look up to and trust, right up until that incident in the library anyway. Even that was something that he had begun to work through. The realisation that Rupert was human had come as a shock, but not as much as this had.

For once his suspicion hadn’t been stupid. It had been right on the ball. Something had been wrong with him.

The fucking collar felt like a lead weight around his neck, chocking him and restricting him, holding him down and forcing him to stay still. It had warmed to his body temperature, but it still felt so unnatural. It wouldn’t do to say that some tiny part of it made him feel protected. That was just another betrayal, this time stemming from his very mind.

What seemed worse was that he couldn’t summon any hatred towards Rupert. Resentment, sure, and a hell of a lot of anger, but nothing as simple, as straightforward as hatred. He was sure that his friends must have noticed that he was avoiding the man, but neither of them had said anything about it. The last thing he had wanted was to drive a wedge into the still-healing relationship between Slayer and Watcher, and since Rupert had promised to start teaching Willow about runes he could do no wrong in her eyes. Anything to do with wacky knowledge was a deal-sealer, as far as she was concerned.

Of course, this wasn’t just a toe that Rupert had stepped on.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs startled him. He had registered the fact that he could no longer hear raised voiced from somewhere outside the room, but he hadn’t thought about what that could mean. He slunk down under the covers, and tried to make himself as tiny as possible. If that fucking chain had had enough length to it, then he would have curled up under the bed, even though the length of chain running down to him would have been a dead give-away.

He felt tiny. Vulnerable, like stripping him of his clothing had stripped all his defences away as well.

The footsteps came off the stairs and into the room, closer. Xander gripped the blanket, holding it over his head, a frightened child telling himself that if he didn’t see the monster then it wasn’t there. It didn’t make a difference, as the blanket was tugged out of his grasp and pulled down.

He found himself looking up at Ethan. This, now this was something that he could hate. A hand came towards him, and he grabbed it, shoving it away, but Ethan simply grabbed both of his wrists with the other hand and pinned them together above his head, then reached for his throat. In that moment Xander braced himself to die, a victim of a monster’s jealousy. He got the feeling that Ethan wasn’t the type to gratefully tolerate an affair, which made it all the more surprising when Ethan grasped the collar and he felt it loosen. It removed its hand and the leather fell away to either side of his neck.

He was free, but where the hell was he going to go? Unless of course Ethan had simply freed him so that it could drink from him, which pretty much put him right back at square one. It let go of his wrists, and took a step back. Xander’s mind went around and around, and came back to the same point.

“H…,” he swallowed around the lump in his throat, “how bad will it hurt?”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed, “How bad will… oh, I’m not going to drain you,” it chuckled, and Xander felt like he was reading from the wrong page in a script, that the scene had been changed without him knowing about it, “If I drained you any time over the next couple of weeks, it would leave me as sick as a dog. Even now, when Rupert’s done no more than mark you with his scent, you smell… well… unappealing. You wouldn’t be safe to drink from until you hit full maturity in a few weeks or maybe a little less.”

Those words made him felt even more scared than he had before. Did it mean that Ethan was going to keep him around for three weeks, tenderizing him like he a vampire’s version of Hansel? Until he was _safe to drain?_

His breath was becoming harder and harder to catch.

“What…what are you...?”

“Oh, stop looking at me like you think I’m going to eat you,” Ethan sounded like it found the whole situation endlessly amusing, “I’m not, you know. Rupert may be loath to admit it, but he likes you. If keeping you distracts him, and makes him easier to handle, then that makes my life a lot easier. I’m not going to drain you. I’m going to train you. You are young enough to learn obedience, and a few tricks.”

_Obedience and tricks? Like some sort of a fucking dog?_

“Hey! I’m not some lap-dog that you can manipulate with pats on the head, and the occasional treat, and if you think for one second that I’m not going to tell Buffy, so that she can plunge a stake through your heartless chest…”

“You can’t,” it smiled at him again, and Xander felt like he was the only one not in on a joke.

“What’s going to stop me?”

“The binding that I placed on you will do that. You can’t talk about this to anyone that doesn’t already know what you are, and now that Rupert has started to play with you, you’ll smell neutral to a lot of the vermin in this town, for now. Only those with the power to challenge him will find you attractive, and that will be very few of them.”

It ran its fingers through Xander’s hair, and the gesture felt more like a cat licking a mouse for the reaction than anything else.

“Now go and clear out. Kill part of the day, talk to Rupert. He needs it, and I want to rest for a few hours.”

Xander felt like refusing to move, simply for the sake of it. If Ethan wasn’t going to kill him, then why should he listen?

Its eyes flashed with a reprimand, “I don’t have to kill you to make you wish that you were dead.”

The scariest thing about that was the tone that it said it in. There was no fire or anger. This was simply a cold statement of fact. Ethan was the sort that would take a person apart simply for the sake of entertainment to see how many pieces it could make.

Xander wished desperately that it would step out of the room, but it wasn’t moving. Moving quickly to minimize his exposure Xander rolled away from it and swung his legs out from under the bedclothes. The floor was cold enough to elicit a shiver. His nipples hardened instantly at the exposure, while the rest of him withered, as he dropped to his knees and grabbed the top that he had worn under his poncho yesterday, and his pants which he fastened with shaking hands, before getting out of the room as fast as he possibly could.

As it closed the door behind him he wondered how easy it might be to stake while it was resting. If he did that, then by default he would be out of this situation, and… _and possibly into one a hell of a lot worse_ he slowly realized.

_Jesus._

Ethan thought that he was young enough to be trained. That was scary enough. But in a few weeks, then if he was out of this, then he might start smelling good to other things, and there was pretty much no chance of that scenario ending well. He’d seen pictures made from woodcuts in those old books in the library, of humans kept by demons. They were nothing more than sophisticated pets or showpieces, something to be taken out and passed around for a bit of entertainment at demon dinner-parties.

So, yeah, it could be a lot, lot worse. But he sure as hell didn’t have to like it, and he wasn’t just going to accept that this was his lot in life.

_Rupert may be loath to admit it, but he likes you. You’re young enough to learn obedience and a few tricks._

No, he didn’t like any of this.

**XXX**

Rupert was pacing the lounge restlessly when Xander came down the stairs, and slunk into the room, looking at anything except for him. The second the boy stepped into the room he stopped in mid-stride and slowly turned towards him, taking in the tension in his body with a glance.

“Alexander,” he used the boy’s full name hesitantly, and bit his lip at the face that he pulled.

“Don’t, please.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Just don’t,” Xander cut him off, “only my grandmother ever called me that, and it was reserved solely for when I was in trouble.”

Raising a hand to fiddle with his earring he tried to think of something that would be a safe topic, “Th…there’s a…a shower in the bathroom down the hall, if you wanted to…to clean up. I can rustle up a sweat-shirt and some track-pants that you’d be comfortable enough in or…”

“Do me a favour and shut up. I’m not hungry, and I’m not thirsty, and I don’t _want_ to do jack-shit.” Rupert swallowed, and took a couple of steps backwards, to perch on the edge of a chair, looking up at Xander who was still standing in the doorway. “Would it have fucking killed you to open your mouth and say something along the lines of _you’re not quite human?_ To have given me some time to…to, oh I don’t know, deal!? Before any of this shit!?”

Rupert wasn’t surprised that the boy was yelling. He was surprised that he wasn’t swinging at him yet.

“I…”

“Did I say I wanted you to talk!? Last night you said you’d give me time, and a choice,” Xander’s tone became strangled, as he lowered his voice, “and you told me that you would have chosen to die, if you’d been given the chance. What in sweet fuckery made you think that maybe I wouldn’t have chosen that, to this fucked up thing you’ve thrown me into? Your boyfriend thinks he can train me, like I’m some performing fucking poodle, and you didn’t hear a thing I said after you came up last night with your eyes black, did you?”

Rupert’s hand twitched towards a drink that wasn’t there, and he wrestled down his own anger which surged up in response. He took a deep breath, giving the boy a chance to start yelling again, and when that didn’t happen he fought to keep his voice reasonable and level. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if he were to simply match the boy’s anger with his own. There was one thing to address before anything else, out of all that, too. It would mean that his stress and distress of last night was for naught, but if he truly wanted it, then he owed it to him.

“I…if you really wanted it, then I know a spell. Well, several, actually, but this one, it… it’s painless. You’d just…go to sleep, really.”

“What?”

“If you really wanted to…to die, then I’ll let you go.”

“Christ,” Xander shook his head, “did you know that that actually sounds tempting? But no. This… this is… I’m scared of it, but I’m more scared of not living,” Xander paused, “so how much of a coward does that make me?”

“It doesn’t. It takes a stronger person to live with it, when life’s screwed you over,” Rupert kept his voice gentle, “and it could be a lot worse.”

“Believe me, I’ve already thought about that one,” Xander gave a shaky laugh, which sounded completely forced.

“I…I truly am sorry, Xander.”

“Doesn’t change a thing though, does it?” he snapped.

“The first reason I didn’t tell you, was because I didn’t want to concern you unduly.”

“Looks like it would have been pretty fucking due, from where I’m standing.”

“The second is that I’d hoped you would naturally fall in with someone that could protect you, someone that you would have chosen.”

He watched as Xander opened his mouth, like he was going to say something, and then bit his lip, frowning.

“So, this training thing? What the fuck is that about?”

Rupert swallowed. He wished to whatever twisted god that was laughing at him that Ethan hadn’t said that, but it had, so it had to be dealt with.

“Ethan never really took to the pack way of life. It… I imagine its lessons will revolve around taking care of yourself for the most part, because it won’t want to have to take care of you for the rest of your life and it won’t want me to. It will want obedience, and a quick study. Then, there’s possibly a chance that it will…err… integrate you into its family. Ethan is actually rather well-known, for its practise of training human.”

Xander stared at him, “I’m guessing you don’t just mean a Godfather-style cake and a card that says ‘Welcome to the family’ on it?”

“No.” Would Xander be more pissed off if he did, or didn’t tell him everything right now? Ethan marked those that it adopted, whether vampire, human or otherwise, but there was only one way that the mark had any meaning when it was worn by a human. It was just a symbol, otherwise. Without it the protective workings that were tied into it, it wouldn’t take.

As Xander uncrossed his arms and stormed down the hall, then Rupert heard the sound of the bathroom door slamming and being locked, the question was taken out of his hands.


	15. 14 – Cold Comfort (Reality)

Wordcount: 5,181

** Chapter 14 – Cold Comfort (Reality) **

“And they will lead you like a friend  
Until you see that they’re right,”  
\- Janus – Glue Factory

**England 1981**

In the end it had taken close to a month for Rupert to recover fully from the damage done to his magic and his life-force, and almost as long for the wounds to heal, since they had been tied to the draining. The marks where the demon had held him had become a set of ten black scars, but he was lucky with the rest. They had healed cleanly.

Ethan’s care was probably the only thing that had prevented an infection setting in and making things that much worse. The vampire had washed him down daily and changed sheets and dressing just as regularly. It had also made him eat whenever he had been able to, which hadn’t been often, or fortified him with brandy to keep his strength up, showing a level of commitment that he would not have suspected such a thing to be capable of.

There were times where he found himself wishing that it hadn’t pulled him out of that fucking factory that night. He had been sick before, but never that sick, and some nights he couldn’t sleep for the pain, unless Ethan gave him sleeping pills to wash down. 

After the first few times he had refused them, because they made him sleep, alright, but they also trapped him in a nightmare landscape that could have only been a twisted future or some blighted hell-dimension. More likely the latter, because he doubted Eyghon would have appreciated having its chance at freedom snatched out from under it.

When the pain began to fade, and he was clear-headed enough to talk and think again, he realised that something inside of him had changed. The creature inside of him that had fought tooth and claw for freedom wasn’t there any longer. Something, between Eyghon’s assault which had damn near killed him, and Ethan’s methodical, clinical care afterwards had lulled that driving force and sated it.

He doubted he would ever like Ethan, but he didn’t want to see it dead any more. 

The day after he dragged himself from the bed for the first time Ethan sat him down at the table and pulled out that grimore which had been Deidre’s, and placed it before him. Rupert looked at it, trying to avoid staring at the bloodstains, his own blood on the skin-bound cover.

“This thing was never meant to get away from me.”

“What?” Rupert wasn’t entirely sure that he had heard right.

“I started writing some of the earliest material in this a hell of a long time ago. It was more a diary than anything else. Fell out of my hands a good couple of millennia ago, and it’s obviously been added to since then. I tracked down and destroyed every other copy that I could find, save for one.”

“Were you going to burn it in front of me?” Rupert pressed his lips together tightly, and tried not to betray any emotion, “A message, or something? This is your last hope, going up in smoke?”

“No,” Ethan shook its head, “You won’t be up to physical training again, for a while yet, and you’ve blooded this, so it’s yours. I expect you to start work on a translation of it, in the mean-time. Not a half-arsed one, either, but a proper one. Anything that you can’t work out, you ask me about. Is that clear? If you’d read that spell properly in the first place, then you would have actually understood the bloody thing properly, and you wouldn’t have wasted this much time.”

“I don’t want it,” Rupert shoved the book away, but Ethan simply put it back.

“It doesn’t matter. You will do as I tell you, Rupert. Believe me, my patience is wearing very thin. You’ve also lost your right to leave this house unsupervised again.”

Rupert scowled at the book, then flicked his gaze back up to Ethan and shivered, “I don’t care,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I said I don’t fucking care,” Rupert rose his voice, “I just don’t care any more. I…I can’t ever like you, but I can’t hate you, and I just don’t care. House arrest is the least I deserve. I wish you would tear a strip or five out of me.”

“I’ll not help you destroy yourself, Rupert.”

“I… Jesus, Ethan. I killed someone.”

Something unidentifiable flickered in its gaze, “I know you did. I smelled his blood on you.”

“I…I… he trusted me. He wanted something, they all did, but he trusted me. He trusted me, and I slit his throat. I killed someone, and I can’t even blame you for it. I…I did it, and it was easy. It … it jus…it shouldn’t be that easy, to take have someone’s life in your hands, and end it.”

“Humans are fragile. I took care of the other six. Are you going to attempt to string me up? Snarl and call me despicable?”

Rupert slowly shook his head, “That’s different. It’s a part of what you are.”

“You would have before.”

“So?”

“Guilt isn’t going to turn time back and it isn’t going to change what you did.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that? Everything’s changed.”

“No, it hasn’t. The only thing that has changed is your perception of the world.”

Rupert looked at Ethan, letting the silence between them speak for him, before he slowly stood and grabbed the book with one hand.

“I’m going to put this thing away, and then I’m taking a bath. I want some space to think.”

Ethan looked at him again, with another flash of that expression that he still couldn’t define.

“I know this wasn’t an easy lesson for you. I hope that for your sake it doesn’t have to be repeated.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about there,” he answered in a cold tone and laughed bitterly.

“Have a decent soak. It’ll do you some good.”

Rupert shrugged and didn’t reply, as he left the room moving slowly and stiffly.

**Sunnydale 1998**

Fuck it. Even the windows in the stupid bathroom were black during the day. 

Xander had been hoping for at least a way to see outside. What the hell did a fucking vampire need a sunlight-proof bathroom for, anyway? Yeah, sure, practicality. But it wasn’t like it had to use a bathroom, was it? He looked towards the shower over the tub, and cut off his internal monologue. It may not need to shit, but it still showered, obviously. Or whatever.

He flicked down the lid of the toilet seat, and sat on top of it, staring at the door. He felt shaky, and his head was aching. He didn’t get how he could still have time, after last night, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was talk right now.

The sound of the phone ringing from somewhere in the house startled him enough that he jumped, and as he strained his ears he caught the murmur of one side of a conversation. He eyed the shower, and wondering if he might be able to wash the smell of Rupert off his skin, and out of his pores. He could just recall, like a memory of a memory, Rupert coming in and wiping him down, so it obviously wouldn’t undo what he’d done.

He wasn’t going to, specifically because he had been told to do so. As far as a rebellion went, it probably wasn’t very impressive, but at least it was something, and anything was better than nothing. He wanted to know how the fuck someone like Rupert could have would up living with a monster like Ethan in the first place, but he wasn’t sure he would like the answer.

More than anything, he wished he was back at home, and that life made sense again. His mother kept to herself, and his dad hadn’t much liked him at all, but at least he’d known what to expect, and how to deal with it. Here, he felt like he’d been thrown into the deep end. He didn’t even want to know what becoming part of a fucking vampire’s family would entail. That was something that he was trying very hard not to think about. Nope he didn’t have any suspicions. _None at all, thank-you very much._

He leaned back against the cistern with his eyes closed, shivering. Why did it have to be his fucking life that was screwed over? He had a feeling that his father might be glad to see the back of him, and he’d been looking forward to being old enough to leave, but he sure as hell hadn’t imagined it coming about like this.

He got that Rupert had wanted to keep him safe, but in his mind that didn’t make much of a difference right now. Sure, he’d kept him safe from monsters, but he sure hadn’t done a very good job otherwise. Half of him wished that Rupert hadn’t even tried. The other half was trying not to imagine what his life might have turned into if he actually had gone out into the midst of those vampires on Vor or Vig-whatever-the-hell it had been called, or if he’d been picked up by something else.

That wasn’t a particularly pleasant thought either.

**XXX**

Buffy looked at Willow over her shoulder, then hung the phone receiver up and turned to face her.

“I got Giles. He said that Xander came to, some time after two this morning, and he’s sleeping it off after a night of being prodded every twenty minutes to make sure there was no concussion. He’ll be fine for school tomorrow.”

She noticed Willow’s frown.

“What?”

“I guess they must have talked last night, then. I mean, you did notice that tension that was there, didn’t you?”

“I did. But if they talked, then that’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. I suppose it just feels…weird, without him hanging around.”

“Wouldn’t you want to sleep, if you’d spent the whole night being poked and prodded?”

“Yeah, sure,” Willow slowly nodded, and tried to put her unfounded concern to rest.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. A few fluffy white clouds hung around the sun, but aside from that it was blue sky all the way. After she was dropped off, the first thing that she did was make her way to the library. She was surprised to find Xander already there, until she realised that he must have come in with Rupert this morning.

“Buffy.” Xander nodded to her, then opened his mouth a couple of times, as though to say something else, then closed it as Rupert came out of the office.

She had expected that feeling of tension to be resolved but instead it seemed thicker than ever. If looks could kill, then she had a feeling Rupert would have been flat on his back with his limbs twitching.

“Okay, I give. What on earth is up between the two of you?”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t sleep well,” Xander finally said, “and that never does me much good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and get ready for class.”

He was speaking to Buffy, but he looked at Rupert, who nodded.

“You do that, and I’ll see you back here after class, please. For…ah, help with that homework problem that you’ve been having trouble with.”

Xander didn’t look at either of them, as he left. Buffy stared after him, until Rupert cleared his throat.

“He really got up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?”

“Sorry?” Rupert’s voice was distant, and it was obvious that he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“I said he must have got up on the wrong side of the bed, today.”

He didn’t reply to her. Instead, he drained the rest of the cup of coffee that he’d left sitting on his desk, and pulled out a handful of books to shelve.

“Giles?”

He look at her coolly, “Was there anything else, Buffy?”

She felt like he’d pulled the rug she was standing on out from under her, “I guess not.”

“Then you should get ready for class too, shouldn’t you? I…I’ll see you back here after last period. For training.”

He seemed completely ill-at-ease, but if he wasn’t going talk to her, then she couldn’t force him to. If he wasn’t going to talk to her, then she wasn’t sure why she should make an effort.

**XXX**

Xander stood at outside the entrance of the school, with his bag dangling loosely from one hand, trying to relax a little as he soaked up the rays. One day without it, and already the day seemed so much brighter and warmer. The day had been a bust, but that wasn’t unexpected. There was just too much going around in his mind at the moment.

“Hey, you,” He heard Buffy’s voice behind him, and turned his head to look at Buffy and Willow, as they joined him on the step. He moved so that he could lean against the railing. 

“Buffy. Willow,” he nodded to the pair of them.

“Ooo, he speaks,” Buffy teased, in a friendly tone.

“It’s been a long day,” Xander finally said, looking away and staring out at the traffic, and watched as a flash black car with tinted windows pulled up, and Cordelia made her way over to it.

“Didn’t Giles say something to you about getting some help with some homeworky-type thing in the library?”

“He wants to talk, he can damn well come and get me himself,” Xander’s voice was heated, “and what’s the bet you’re meant to be working out in there yourself?”

“I’m doing something that’s a little more important, in my opinion. What on earth is up between the two of you?”

“Don’t try and say ‘nothing’ either, Mister,” Willow backed Buffy up, “we’ve noticed the tension there.”

Xander bit his lip for a moment, and then shrugged a shoulder, “We had a fight, on the night of Vigi-whatever it was.”

“Vigorous,” Buffy offered, helpfully.

“Vigeous,” Willow corrected.

“Anyway,” Xander continued, “it got brought up again the other night. That’s all, alright?”

“An argument over what?” Willow pressed. Sometimes he really wished she didn’t care quite so much.

Cordelia chose that moment to push into the conversation, with her usual lack of regard for anyone else, and Xander was glad for the excuse to stop talking.

“Come on, Richard and his fraternity brother want to meet you,” she grabbed Buffy’s hand and began to drag her towards the car before she had a chance to process what was going on.

“I’m not interested in meeting frat boys,” Buffy protested, but made no move to shake Cordelia off.

“And I have no idea what strange interest they have in you. Now come on, let’s go.”

“Okay, what twisted universe did that just come out of?” Xander stared after her. 

He watched the exchange, as Buffy quickly dismissed the first guy and turned to walk away, only to have some tall, pleasant-looking guy with dark brow hair follow her from the car and stop her. Xander felt a flash of satisfaction, as he saw that she was responding favourably to him.

“Better than a vampire,” Xander muttered, and Willow glanced at him. There wasn’t time for her to say anything, though, as Rupert came out of the front entrance at that moment.

“Come along,” he called.

Still, Xander didn’t move, until Buffy had passed him, and was half-way back down the hall.

“I’d better go,” he said, reluctantly, “I’ll catch up with you later, Willow.”

“Sure. Later. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have things to do anyway.”

Xander hated that dejected tone in Willow’s voice, but he knew that there was nothing he could actually say to her right at this moment, that would make her feel better. He was having a hard enough time trying to keep himself in check.

He took his time working his way through the slowly dwindling crowd that were making their way out of the school, and by the time he actually got to the library there were only a few people left, and Rupert was already wearing pads, and facing Buffy with a pair of swords in his hands. A quarterstaff was on the table within easy reach. 

Xander sat down at a far table. Right about now he thought that if he saw Rupert get his British butt handed to him then it would make his day.

“I’m not going to pull any punches,” Rupert warned, and Buffy nodded in acknowledgement.

“Fine,” she said. 

She followed as Rupert slowly circled her, looking for a weak spot. When he exploded in action, it looked to Xander as though it was completely out of the blue. He launched an elbow towards Buffy’s ribcage, which she dodged, then tried to bring his foot down against her instep, with a sideways kick. Buffy stepped out of the way of this then ducked, as the shorter of the two swords cut through the air above her head. She straightened quickly, snapping her head up, so that it caught the underside of his chin, in the same moment that he kneed her in the chest. She grabbed his leg as it made contact, and yanked so that he landed heavily on his back. Then she stepped on the blade of one of the swords, and caught his other hand as he swung for her, twisting it to disarm him.

The second he released the sword she let go, and held a hand down to him to help him up, “That was way too easy, Giles. Not up to your usual standard at all.”

Rupert accepted her hand, and get to his feet, rubbing his back in spite of the padding, and catching the breath that had been knocked out of him, “Yes, well, we can’t all be as good as you,” he said, crisply.

“Hey, just a comment,” Buffy held up her hands defensively, and Rupert shook his head.

“Sorry. Anyway, why don’t you head out, and get ready for patrol this evening, then I’ll see you in the morning for your report?”

She glanced towards Xander, as though she could see the tension that he was feeling. Or maybe she could feel it. He nodded to her, and she looked at Rupert again.

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess.”

“Thank-you, Buffy,” he said. 

As she left, he began to strip the protective gear off, then tucked it and the swords away his office. Finally, he came back out with the usual bottle of whiskey, and a pair of glasses, which he put down on his desk.

“Come here, Xander.”

“What if I’d rather not?” he tilted his head up, and stared coolly at Rupert.

“Please?”

Xander pretended to think about it for a moment, before emphatically shaking his head, “I’m not moving.”

Rupert sighed, then picked up the glasses and bottle and walked over to the table that Xander was sitting at, and poured out a measure of drink, which he knocked back quickly before he poured another.

 _Drinking and magick. Lovely combo_. Xander had seen enough escapist behaviour to recognize what he saw now. The human mind was meant to be able to adapt to almost anything, but there were times when he really doubted it.

Rupert raised an eyebrow at him, “Did you…?”

“Hell, yes. Hit me. Why not add underage drinking back into the mix?” Xander cut him short, and watched as Rupert poured a couple of fingers into the other glass. Following his example, he picked it up and had about half of it, before he pulled a face and set it back down.

Rupert took a deep breath, which he let slowly out, and swallowed, staring at his hands, “Dare I ask how you were today?”

“Just peachy. My life has been turned on its head, so I’m singing in the fucking choir. How the hell do you think I am? Seriously?”

He knew that Rupert’s patience had probably been wearing thin since yesterday. He could just about see that temper threatening to boil over, like a wave about to wash over a sandbank. 

“You think you’re the only person right now stuck doing something you hate?” Rupert hissed.

That was something that stung a lot more than it should have, with how much he didn’t like this situation, “Oh, so I’m something you hate now? That’s real fucking rich, Giles.”

“I never said that I hated you.”

“Really,” Xander’s tone was laced with sarcasm, “because stuck doing something you hate? That’s real fucking subtle. You know, a few weeks ago I used to respect you. Hell, a few weeks ago I wanted to be like you.”

“Never heard the saying ‘be careful what you wish for’, then?” Rupert snapped.

“I never wanted this,” Xander bolted back the rest of his glass, and shoved it back across the table. Rupert only just stopped it from shooting over the edge.

“Neither did I! But it’s what you got, and it’s what you’re stuck with. At the very least, you could try to be grateful!”

“Grateful? How the fuck is that one meant to work, when I’ll have no fucking option but to screw with you?!” Xander matched Rupert’s tone with ease.

“Because this isn’t forever!” Rupert took a deep breath, and struggled to get himself back under control. He knew first-hand how badly he could fuck things up if her completely lost his rag, “Listen, Xander. In a few years, you’ll be marked, which will keep anything with half a brain away, and you’ll be more than capable of taking care of yourself. The height of a submissive’s xenophiliac breeding cycle doesn’t often last longer than ten to fifteen years, and I know that probably sounds like a lifetime now, but it’s not. You will get your own life back, which is more than I’ll ever have.”

“Years?” 

Well yes, he would fixate on that, wouldn’t he?

“That’s not the point. The point is…”

“You expect me to kiss goodbye to fifteen years of my fucking life, spend it as part of a freak-show, then you think I’ll what, be able to step back into it like nothing ever happened?”

“It’s a hard fact, that life changes people regardless,” Rupert rose, and jabbed a finger into Xander’s shoulder, “and you’re going to just have to suck up and deal with it.”

Xander twisted his head away, “You can be a real prick, you know?”

“I’m the prick who will be keeping you alive,” Rupert said, squaring himself.

Even with the anger that was in his tone Xander thought he could still hear a note of defeat in his tone, and there was definitely exhaustion there, too. He shook his head. What the hell was he doing, picking out his tone of voice, when he had already decided to hate him for this? Hate would make life so much simpler. It was black and white, rather than shades of grey.

“Look, Xander,” Rupert reached down and rested a hand gently over his. Xander yanked it away from underneath, and caught the frown that flitted across Rupert’s face, “We’re both on edge, and this conversation is getting us nowhere for the moment. Why don’t you go home and get some rest for the night, then I’ll see you back here with Buffy tomorrow morning?”

“You honestly think I’ll be able to sleep after this?” Xander laughed bitterly.

“Just try, for the sake of both our sanity.”

“Why, gonna strangle me again if I don’t?” Xander pushed him.

“Don’t. Just…just go.”

“Maybe I will go. I could make a quick track out of town, and away from this, and you wouldn’t be able to do jack shit to stop me.”

Rupert looked at him, trying to tell whether it was a serious threat. He weighed his words, before replying, “You’re right, you could. But it wouldn’t be long until you ran into something a lot worse than Ethan or I. Just keep that in mind, if you do.”

It would be better to have him thinking about things, and a little scared, than to have him take off after leaving the library.

Rupert stared at his glass, in silence as Xander grabbed his bag and left. Then he knocked that one back as well, put his forehead in his hands and closed his eyes. He must have been a true villain in some past life to bring all of this onto himself.

**XXX**

Buffy made her way through the darkened woods, taking her time so that she didn’t miss any signs of trouble. Not that she expected to. Earlier on she had taken out a single vampire that had still had dirt in his hair, but aside from that she hadn’t seen anything over the last few nights. The town actually felt like any other normal town, which didn’t do much to set her mind at ease.

It was like the vampires were staying indoors, or underground, or whatever, for the time being, and that was never a good thing. She would have called it a night and gone to catch up with Angel, but that had recently taken a turn for the worse.

_Angel hadn’t turned on any of the lights, or lit the candles. He was sitting in the dark, staring at the door as though waiting for her to come in. She supposed that he had known she was there from the moment she had entered the mansion. Vampiric hearing was something that she had always found impressive._

_She could see just enough of him through the shadows to see that he was wearing his usual black jeans, and a white singlet._

_“Hey, you,” she whispered, not wanting to raise her voice and break the moment, as her heart quickened in her chest, “I was expecting you to show tonight.”_

_“Sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, lately.”_

_Those words didn’t sound all that promising, but Buffy tried to ignore the possible implications._

_“Penny for them?” she said, stepping closer to him, as he stood. She was close enough now that he could have reached out and ran a thumb over her cheek, but he didn’t make any move to._

_“I think that this is moving too fast for you, Buffy. Earlier, you were using me to help make a connection with the world, but now that you’re back on your feet I think it’s time that you took a step back, and got some perspective. You need to ask yourself if you know where this is going, and if you’ll be ready for it when it gets there.”_

_“I do know where this is going, though, and I’m more than ready for it.”_

_“Are you? Are you really, or is that what you tell yourself for comfort? I’m not some prince, Buffy, and this isn’t a fairy tale. There isn’t going to be some happily ever after waiting for you, and when I touch you I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”_

_“I don’t want happily ever after. I just know that I want you now.”_

_“Think about it, Buffy. Think it through.”_

_He brushed past her, still without making contact, and a moment later she heard the sound of the door to the courtyard opening and closing. She stood there, feeling stunned, and taking the time to gather her thoughts, before she slowly made her way back outside._

A cricket chirruped from somewhere up ahead. Buffy walked out of the trees, and froze as she heard the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly behind her. Pulling out a stake, she turned and tensed, only to relax as Xander came out into the pale moonlight, a stake of his own drawn.

“You’re out pretty late.”

“Says the pot to the kettle. I can’t sleep, and I’ve been doing this since before I knew vampires existed, without getting my neck nibbled on. What’s your excuse?”

“Part of the job description. No pay and crappy hours. Reckon I could get myself fired by making a poor show of it?”

Xander shook his head, “Nah. They wouldn’t be able to find anyone else who’d want to take over from you.”

Xander sounded a little more like his old self, but Buffy couldn’t shake the impression that he was trying a lot harder than he normally would. He was acting normal, but something about his expression looked wooden. He moved out of the trees, so that he was standing beside her.

“Didn’t expect to find you on your own tonight. Where’s Dead Boy?’

Buffy gave him an exasperated look, but didn’t comment on the name that she knew Angel hated.

“He’s busy. Has been all week, in fact.”

She spotted the tiny flash of triumph in his expression and again wondered why he didn’t trust Angel, when the vampire had proven himself to all of them several time over.

“And here I thought that guy was harder to get rid of than blue cheese,” he spotted something glittering dully in the moonlight, and walked over to it, dropping into a crouch to pick it up by a delicate chain, “Today’s bogie prize from the Hellmouth, for your viewing pleasure.” 

He held out the broken bracelet half, and Buffy took it, holding it up to the scant light so that she could see it properly. She didn’t need any extra illumination to see the faint hint of tacky brown that had run into the engraved letters ‘ENT’ that were on it.

“There’s blood on it, and it’s a girl’s bracelet. What’s around here that we know of?” she bounced the question off Xander, as she started to walk. He hurried to fall into step with her.

“Well, we’ve got trees, a graveyard not far away on one side, and UC Sunnydale not far away on the other. The fact is that could have come from anywhere. A bloodsucker could have found its first meal, or someone could have tripped over taking a shortcut to class, or stumbling away from a frat party.”

Buffy frowned, and Xander could see that she was thinking about something. ”Maybe I should go to that party with Cordelia to see if anyone knows anything.”

“Maybe see more of that guy you were talking to, this afternoon?” Xander gave her a wink.

“Well,” Buffy drew the word out.

“Come on, if you and Angel are on a break, then you have to test the water. He was human, so I reckon that’s a tick in the plus column straight off, and from a girl’s perspective I reckon he probably was pretty easy on the eye.”

Buffy laughed, “Okay, so that’s true.”

They came to the road that ran along the other side of the university, and started down it.

“I’m taking a quick sweep through Restfield, and then I’m going to call it a night. It’s pretty dead out here. Were you in?”

“Sure,” Xander nodded.  



	16. 15 – Snakes In the Grass (And Demons In The Basement)

Wordcount: 5,980

** Chapter 15 – Snakes In the Grass (And Demons In The Basement) **

“I’m as low as a paid assassin is  
You know I’m cold as a hired sword”  
\- Elton John – I Feel Like A Bullet (In The Gun Of Robert Ford)

 

Rupert got to the school early the next morning, so that he could spend some time alone. Ethan had been keeping a close eye on him over the last couple of days, which wasn’t entirely unjustified, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. There were times when he just needed his own space to think in.

He wasn’t going to do anything to hurt himself. He was sorely tempted to try and do something to hurt Ethan, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. A part of him even recognized how unfair it was to heap the blame on it, when he knew that this was his own fault, but the vampire was a convenient scapegoat for his anger.

If he blamed himself, then he wouldn’t be able to function, and keep doing what he had to, and this job was far too important to screw up because he was moping. Ethan had shown him a long time ago how his feelings got in the way of rationality. He might not always keep it in mind, but he sure as hell tried. 

He couldn’t fight Buffy’s battles for her no matter how much he might want to, and he couldn’t force Xander to see that he was trying to help make the best of a bad situation. All that he could do was dare to hope that it worked out for the best, and that the children could learn what they needed from him.

He was sitting at the table, staring at space when Willow, Xander and Buffy came in at the same time. A quick glance at the boy was enough for him to see how little sleep he had had last night, but the fact that he was here at all was something in itself. He had obviously taken what he had been told last night to heart. It still didn’t prevent him from trying to kill with a glare, though. Rupert was grateful for the small favours. If that was the only rebellion that he had shown towards Ethan had been to glower at it, then both of their lives would have been a damn sight easier.

“Good morning,” he said, as he rose to his feet and picked up the books that were in front of him on the table, so that it looked like he was doing something.

“Morning, Giles,” Buffy said, in a worryingly cheerful tone. He didn’t have to be a genius to tell that she was already trying to butter him up.

“So, how was patrol last night?”

“Found this,” she tossed something over to him that flashed silver through the air.

He snatched at it, and turned the half-bracelet over in his hands to stare at the blood.

“Did you know anything about it?”

Willow pulled a book off the shelf and pretended to focus on it, while watching them over the top of it.

“Xander found it just outside the woods, near the UC Sunnydale campus, and a frat house. I’ve been invited to a party there, and I was thinking that it might be a good opportunity to go along and see whether I could find anything that might link the two.”

He cleared his throat, as he let the bracelet dangle from his fingers, “How much of this brilliant strategising would be part of a plan to take a night off, if you can?”

Buffy looked at him, “Who, me?”

“I was your age once, and back then I was trying to play a vampire. I’m not as foolish as you might think I look, Buffy.”

“I never thought you looked foolish.”

“Buffy?”

“Only about half of it,” she confessed, “I seriously do think something might be going on. I mean, how cliché is the whole bad mojo thing? Very seventies too, of course, but if whatever they’re doing works for them, then the fact that it’s dated is hardly going to make them stop.”

He frowned to himself, mulling it over, and then decided it would be best not to fight it. If she wanted to go then she would probably do so, regardless of whether he gave permission, “Very well then. But if you’re going along to investigate, then you’re not going alone.”

“I’m not. I’m going with,” she pulled a face, “Cordelia.”

“Which is all well and good, but I’d rather you have someone else there to watch your back, in case something goes off. Xander can go with you as well.”

“What?” Both Buffy and Xander spoke at the same moment.

“He will have to be discreet, but I’m sure he’ll be able to manage that. Then, if nothing comes of it, you’ll both be able to relax a little.”

“Got it. No green pants with purple polka dots,” Xander didn’t look enthusiastic.

“Willow, you can stay here with me and help me see if we can find anything out about who may have owned this bracelet. After all, you never know what might come in handy. If that’s alright with you, of course?” he looked at Willow, “We may also take the chance to slip out for a coffee, if our side of the investigation proves to be futile.”

“Sure,” Willow nodded, looking enthusiastic, “I can call my mom, and tell her that I’m at the library studying.”

“That has the added benefit of actually being true. Xander,” he gestured for the boy to come a little closed, and waited until he finally stepped forward. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, making the gesture look as natural as he could, “you’re going in my place tonight. If anything seems out of the ordinary, I want you to get in touch. If nothing does, then just take the chance to relax.”

For one tense moment it looked like Xander was going to argue with him, simply for the sake of it, and he had a frightening insight into how frustrating his attitude must have been to Ethan, once upon a time. Hell, he probably still got on the vampire’s nerves. Xander obviously had better self-control then he’d had, though, because he simply nodded.

“Yeah, whatever,” he shrugged Rupert’s hand away, and stepped back, and at that moment the bell rang for first period.

The three teens left together, and as they did he heard Buffy saying, “Cordelia’s going to kill me for this.”

**XXX**

Xander crossed his arms and pushed himself further back into the seat, as Cordelia glared at him in the rare view mirror for what must have been the tenth time since he had hopped into the car. As she also spent quite a lot of time driving with one hand, while fiddling with her hair, it didn’t fill him with great confidence.

Of course, if she crashed then this would all be over, so every cloud had a silver lining, but he’d envisioned his death as being a tad more heroic than when he was in the back seat of a car with his bits and pieces in places that the weren’t meant to be in.

“I still don’t get why you had to bring looser-boy, here,” she complained.

“I told you, Giles wants someone at our back.”

“Either that, or he just didn’t want him in his hair for the night.”

“If you don’t stop that, then we’ll get out of this car right now, and if what you told me is true then they won’t let you in on your own.”

“How were you planning on getting him in, anyway? I mean, they’re not just going to let him waltz in through the front door.”

Buffy shrugged, as they pulled up, “We’ll deal with it somehow.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes, and pulled her keys out of the ignition, “Everyone out of the car. Xander, stick close to me.”

He looked surprised at that, but did as she said, as she led the way through the crowd that had spilled out onto the lawn, and into the house where Richard was standing in the entrance.

“Evening, ladies. What’s with the spare?”

Xander tried not to look offended.

“He’s cool. He’s Buffy’s brother. Her mom’s very over-protective, wouldn’t let her out without him, not since their dad was killed. It was so tragic,” Cordelia’s bottom lip quivered, and she tilted her head slightly so that the light caught her eyes, making them appear moist.

Richard glanced at a friend beside him, and then nodded, “That’s fine. No need to make yourself upset, babe. I had to ask, since we get a lot of people trying to gatecrash, you know. They just want to rub elbows with the rich and powerful, and won’t take no for an answer. But if he’s family, then that’s alright in my books.”

He gestured to one of the boys who were wearing a waitress’s outfit, carrying a tray of drinks and wearing a ‘New Pledge’ sign around his neck. He came over and Richard handed out drinks from off the tray to all of them.

Buffy frowned, looking at the drink, and Xander figured that she would probably want to keep a clear head if she was going to be poking around.

“Is there alcohol in this?” she asked, as Xander knocked his drink back, and Cordelia took a sip of hers.

“Just a smidge,” Richard smiled, and Xander got an uneasy feeling from that expression.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass for now,” Buffy put it down. 

Richard nodded, “I understand. I was anxious at my first grownup party, too.”

“So” Cordelia latched onto Richard’s arm, and smiled up at him, looking flattering, “why don’t you show me around this place? It looks immense.”

“Sure thing, babe. Did your friends want to come on the grand tour, too?”

Cordelia shook her head, “Oh, no. They’ll be fine.”

Xander was taken aback by how Cordelia had come through for them, when she didn’t even like him. He watched as she half-led Richard upstairs, and then he turned to Buffy, “Well, here’s your chance to have a look around, Lady Sherlock.”

“Why, thank-you, Mister Watson,” she said playfully in return, then looked a little more serious, “so where do you think we should start?”

“Not in here, obviously. There’s no way that they would have left anything out in the open with a party about to happen.”

“Do you think we should split up?” Buffy asked, “We’d cover more ground.”

“Might be a good idea,” Xander spotted the guy Tom, according to Buffy, making a beeline through the crowd to them, “especially since it looks like you’re going to be occupied for a little while.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tom said, clearly not looking sorry at all.

Buffy turned to face him, and Xander thought she looked a little too eager to prove that she could have a good time with or without Angel around. He had a feeling she would rather be out with her vamp-friend, but that obviously wasn’t an option right now.

“Not at all,” she smiled, “We weren’t doing anything important.”

“It’s just that I saw you standing here, and I thought that a beautiful girl deserved a lot more attention than what you have at the moment. Would you care to dance?”

She blinked at him, “With you?”

“No, with my identical twin,” he quipped.

“That’s a shame. I think I’d much rather dance with you.”

“That’s good, because he got called away point five seconds ago.” 

“I’m sure Xander can entertain himself for a little while.”

Tom laughed and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor, which was really just a clear area in the middle of the rec room. Xander watched them for a few moments, then glanced around and slipped out into the hallway. Listening at the first doorway he heard the sound of moaning, and a low, rhythmic grunting which told him to steer clear. Keeping his step light, he moved down to the second door, and pressed his ear against it. He could hear nothing.

He twisted the handle and let himself in, to discover an empty room with a note on the bed. Quietly, he picked it up to read _‘Couldn’t take the pressure. Work’s too hard, and I just can’t handle it. Goodbye.’_

That sure wasn’t what he was looking for. Kind of weird that someone with every possible advantage buckled under university, though. He folded it back up, and put it back, then left the room. The next several rooms were just bedrooms, and they didn’t look like they held the answer to the mystery of the broken bracelet, either. That was if it even had anything to do with this place, what with how close if had been to Restfield as well.

He headed back down the stairs, grabbed another glass of drink, and scanned the crowd for Buffy. Well, she wasn’t on the dance floor any more. Just as he was about to start actively looking for her she came inside through a set of glass doors, and he started towards her, then noticed that she wasn’t weaving through the crowd, but stumbling through it, like she’d just had half a bottle of vodka, or something. Something was seriously wrong with this picture.

He looped an arm around her, and helped her over to the wall near the phone, before he let go of her again. She leaned against the wall and slid unceremoniously down it, then tilted her head to look up at him. Her expression was vacant, like she wasn’t seeing him. Turning away to face the wall, he picked up the phone and rung the library. The phone was picked up after only a couple of rings.

“Giles speaking.”

“Yeah, look. I think we’ve got trouble here. Buffy’s acting completely out of it, like she’s been…”

A splitting pain exploded through his head, and his vision went dark.

**XXX**

Richard slipped an arm around Xander’s back and half-carried, half-dragged him out into the hallway where a free bedroom was, while Tom urged Buffy to her feet, and guided her after him. To the few people still around it simply looked like the two high schoolers might have had a little bit too much to drink, and the few stragglers that weren’t in the fraternity were being herded out the door.

As soon as Tom got her out into the hallway, Buffy leaned away from him and threw up in a pot plant, then curled up on her side, mumbling weakly to herself. Once the last person was out the door he helped Richard get that Chase girl and Buffy down into the basement, and then cornered him, “Why the hell did you let the spare in?”

Richard set his shoulders, “Do you have any idea how suspicious it would have looked if I’d turned him away?”

Tom sighed, “You may as well bring him down, too.”

Richard scowled at him, “Me?”

“Yes, you. You invited him to stay, and you brained him, so you can drag him down the stairs.”

“Has Machida ever fed on a male before? Do we know if it will take him?”

“You’d better hope that he does. Because if not, then you’ll be the one slitting his throat.”

Richard didn’t look too pleased with that.

“Are you going soft on me?” Tom’s voice was no longer friendly, it was cruel. “How many girls have you helped me feed to him now? You’ve already got blood on your hands. The only difference this is going to make is that this won’t be a death that happens at a distance.”

**XXX**

The way that the line went dead without warning told Rupert everything that he needed to know. He didn’t hear any emergency sirens going off, and with what Xander had been saying he now knew that something was going on. His Slayer, the boy, and possibly even Cordelia were in danger.

“I’m going to get the weapons. Willow, do me a favour and ring Angel, tell it to meet us near the frat house. Do you know what one it is?”

“Delta Zeta Kapa. It’s a big one, pretty close the Restfield. Fraternity of Sunnydale’s rich and famous,” she informed him.

“Good. We don’t know what we’re going to find, so I want back-up.”

“What about your…”

“No,” he cut her off sharply.

“He did come through for us the other night, at the museum.”

 _Look at how well that turned out_ he thought, sarcastically.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Why are you so determined to keep us away from such a major part of your life?”

“Because you’re better off not knowing him. Now for God’s sake, Willow, we don’t have time to waste.”

A couple of axes and the crossbow, and his war hammer and his knife, and that sword that Buffy favoured. That would do. He tossed everything into a bag, and came out as Willow was hanging up the phone.

“He said he’ll be there in about five minutes, and he’ll meet us outside.”

“Good,” he handed Willow the weapons, and dug out his keys as he hurried out to the car. She was only a beat behind him as he unlocked the door, and got into the drives seat. She kept the weapons on her lap, aside from his knife which was up his sleeve, and he pressed the accelerator to the floor. He took a couple of back streets, to avoid having to run red lights, and by the time they got to the car park Angel was already waiting for them, looking like something that he wouldn’t want to cross.

“Did you want a weapon to take in?” he asked the vampire, as he grabbed his war hammer out of the bag, let Willow get out one of the axes, and went to swing the bag back onto his shoulder and out of the way.

Angel shook its head, “Buffy’s in there. That’s all I need.” It morphed to game face.

Rupert could fully agree with that sentiment. “Let’s do this,” he said, as he made his way over to the door and tried the handle, only to find it locked. He swung his weapon and shattered several panes of glass, as well as the wooden framing that was holding them, then reached through and flicked the latch.

“Well, there goes the element of surprise,” Angel said, as two fellows wearing dark hooded cloaks came up the stairs from a door that looked like it led down to a basement.

Rupert watched through the shattered glass, waiting, and when they were a few steps away from the door he raised his boot and planted it firmly in the centre of the doors, kicking out as hard as he could. One of them was fast enough to get out of the way, but the other one caught a door straight to his forehead and went down like a wet paper bag. Rupert kicked his prone form out of the way, while Angel struck the other one across the side of his head at the moment that three more came out like ants from a mound, to see what the trouble was.

They may have looked the part, but they were easy game. A couple of kicks brought another one down, while Angel grabbed the heads of both the others and slammed them together, hard. Willow slipped past them and dashed over to the door, looking down, and froze.

“Willow, are you alright?” Rupert dashed over to join here, and stopped right behind her, looking down at the massive snake-like demon that she had obviously spotted. “I know what that is,” he said as he urged Willow to one side so that he could get past her and to the creature that was rumoured to be one of the sons of a basilisk and a lesser god.

As he started down the steps another two broke away from the circle, and he could see that a male with his shirt off, and diamonds carved into his back was holding a sword to Buffy’s throat. As he watched she jumped and grabbed the chains high up, and used the height to launch a quick high kick towards his face, which snapped his head back. He sprawled on the ground, gripping his nose, and the other man that had been beside him cracked a savage backhand across her face.

She tugged at the chains, attempting to loosen them from the wall.

“You bitch,” the other man spat, “You’ll respect your betters.”

“She does. You’re just not one of them,” Rupert pulled his knife from his sleeve, and threw it hard and fast so that it flipped end over end, and struck him on the side of the head with enough force to knock him out. 

He finished descending the stairs, and shattered the chain holding Buffy with a couple of strikes of the war hammer. The serpentine demon hissed at Cordelia, and licked her cheek. The moment it had scented its offerings everything else hand fallen to the wayside. 

Buffy grabbed the bag from off his shoulder and took her sword out of it, as Angel lunged at the child of Machida and began to pound at its face and body. It hissed threateningly, and drew away from the vampire, even as it swiped with wicked-looking hooked nails. Angel avoided one blow, but the second caught across its cheek splitting the flesh open down to the bone.

Angel snarled, and redoubled its attack, hitting at the humanoid head and torso with everything that it had. Rupert didn’t envy it being on the receiving end of that. The vampire punctuated each blow that landed with a word.

“You. Will. Never. Touch. Buffy,” it snarled, as it gave into what was one of vampire’s most basic instincts.

He had seen that same rage in Ethan on a scant handful of occasions, and it was never any less overwhelming or brutal. A vampire without a soul cut loose far more easily, and felt passion on a far deeper, more animalistic level than any other. If Angel already cared for Buffy on that deeper level, then there was no way that he would be able to come between them, as much as the relationship left him ill-at-ease. He tried to tell himself that it was just because he naturally wanted to judge every vampire by Ethan’s standard, which he shouldn’t be doing.

While Angel distracted the child of Machida by pounding it into a bloody pulp Buffy shook herself to help her focus, and then beheaded the beast with a flick of her sword. She dropped the sword to the ground, and quickly headed around the serpentine body to where Angel was still tearing at the fallen corpse.

“Angel, it’s over,” she reached out towards the vampire, and it froze for a second, then turned to her and grabbed her, then it tugged her close and angled its teeth towards her throat, only just stopping itself a hair’s breadth from biting her. If it hadn’t stopped, then he wouldn’t have been able to move fast enough to prevent it. Instead, to his relief, it tightened its grasp, and pressed its face into her shoulder. 

“Buffy,” it spoke softly, “please, remind me never to be so stupid again. All that I could think about was the fact that you were in danger, and it was me who put you there.”

“You didn’t force me to come here,” she reassured it.

As it shook its head, Rupert twisted away to give them what little privacy he could. He freed Cordelia, and then the girl beside her who looked like she had been beaten, and had a dull look in her eyes, almost as though she’d missed the fact that she wasn’t going to die. The hospital would probably be the best place for her. Between that, and time spent with her family who were no doubt praying for her safe return, she should recover.

Cordelia rubbed at her wrists, and then stood over one of the fallen guys, glaring down at him. “I really, really want to kick him,” she said, “preferably where it hurts.”

“I wouldn’t tell,” Rupert assured her, as he went over to a prone figure that was stretched out on his chest, on the floor. Xander. He felt for his pulse, just to be certain that he was still alive, since the alternative was unthinkable. He breathed a sigh of relief as he found it strong and steady, and glanced towards Cordelia again. She settled for kicking the man in the side instead, and then turned away from him and sat down on the foot of the stairs, trying to get her trembling under control. Willow made a beeline for where he was.

“He has just been knocked out, hasn’t he?” she asked, looking concerned.

Rupert nodded, and gathered the unconscious teen up in his arms, “He’ll be fine. I’m just going to take him upstairs to somewhere a little more comfortable, and wake him up.”

“Where exactly?” Willow asked, dogging his step.

“Just the lounge. The couch out there will do.”

“Cool. So…”

“Willow,” he interrupted her.

“Yeah?”

“I need peace and quiet to do this, as well as a little bit of time. It’s a very delicate spell, and it would be best if you stayed down here. If you can get the others to give me a few minutes before coming upstairs, that would also be appreciated.”

“Sure. I can do that,” Willow said, without much enthusiasm.

“Thank-you,” Rupert nodded to her, “that’s a huge help.”

Her expression brightened a little, as eager to please as she was. Rupert, with one hand supporting Xander’s head, climbed the stairs and went into the now vacant lounge, to stretch Xander out on the couch. Lifting his head a little he settled a cushion under it, then dropped to his knees and placed one hand on either side of his head. 

Closing his eyes, he settled himself and slowly opened his awareness, feeling everything that was around him, until he felt the dark, tight ball that was Xander’s mind. It wasn’t mind-reading, or anything of the sort. It was more like he was a blind man, feeling along the edges of a shape that experience had given him familiarity with. He didn’t know what he was touching, but he knew what was meant to be where, because he’d felt it so many times before.

He smoothed over the ragged edges with energy, and fed a few sparks of light along a couple of the darker pathways, then as Xander began to shift under his touch he soothed over the nerves, like he had the last time. He hadn’t been lying. It was a delicate spell, and any fumble-fingered idiot could easily damage a mind.

He opened his eyes at the same moment that Xander did, and pulled his hands away. Usually a mind opened up a little when a person was conscious, but Xander’s mind remained rather tightly locked which was the sign of a bad experience.

“You,” Xander growled, and sat up to get away. If he’d had the opportunity, then he would have warned him against moving quite so soon, but he didn’t, so Xander found out the hard way as his body heaved and he was almost sick.

Gently, Rupert pushed against his shoulders until he was lying flat on the couch again, “Just rest. Your body’s in shock. You were knocked out then probably nearly devoured by a giant snake.”

“Why didn’t you just let it happen?”

“What?” he felt shocked at the suggestion.

“I said why didn’t you just let it happen? Would have been a pretty realistic end to both of our problems,” he said, weakly, “I wouldn’t be in this situation any more, and you wouldn’t be stuck with something you hate,” he sounded defeated.

“I don’t hate you, Xander.”

“Sure. That’s real fucking convincing.”

Rupert took a deep breath, “I don’t hate you, and I don’t resent you, as hard as that might be for you to believe. What I hate is the fact that you’re being pushed into a situation like this.”

“Really?” this time there was a little less heat in it.

“Really,” he kept his voice soft, “I…I wouldn’t have wished what you’re going through onto anyone, and I wish I could give you what you had before, but I can’t. All I can do is promise to try and do right by you, and make this as easy on you as I can. All you have to do is give me a chance. Please.”

Xander didn’t reply straight away, but he did look thoughtful, and that alone was more that Rupert had felt he had any right to hope for. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he met his gaze again.

“I can’t…I can’t…I don’t trust people easily.”

Rupert felt his heart sink a little, but he understood that. He didn’t deserve to be trusted, not when he had already made such a hash of this.

“But,” Xander finally spoke again, almost to faint for him to hear, “I can try to give you a chance. Just… just don’t push me, alright?”

He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he didn’t want to a huge production out of it. He ran a thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone, and gave him a weak smile, “Thank-you.”

Xander looked uncomfortable, so he pulled his hand back, “I’m going to go back downstairs and see if everyone’s ready to leave. If you’re going to try and sit up, then take it slowly, yes?”

“Sure,” Xander said.

Rupert walked back over to the door that led back to the basement stopped half-way down the stairs, “Were we all ready to leave?”

Cordelia was the first on her feet, “Best idea I’ve heard all evening,” she said as she pulled her car keys out of her pocket, “I have spent way too much time with you losers than is good for me.”

“You’re welcome,” Buffy said sarcastically to her back, “I’m sure no-one was tempted to leave you chained up down here.”

Rupert couldn’t help chuckling a little. Things seemed a little brighter than they had even a few hours ago.

“Buffy?” he asked her, and she shook her head, “Angel and I are going to walk.”

Willow made her way over to the stairs, and Rupert noticed that the other girl who had been chained up as leaning against her for support, “Giles, you don’t mind dropping Callie here off at her place too, do you?”

He eyed the deep bruises on her face, and went the rest of the way down the stairs, “How badly does your face hurt?”

“It’s pretty numb right now,” the girl said in a whisper.

“I…I don’t mean to…to pry, but is that… is that all?” he finally managed to get the words out.

She slowly nodded, “They said that it would only accept a pure sacrifice.”

Rupert let out a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding, “Well, let’s be grateful for the small favours. Still, I’d recommend getting checked out by the hospital tomorrow. Some of those bruises look fairly bad, and facial bones can be delicate.”

She looked at him, like she wasn’t sure what to make of him. That was something he was used to, though.

“Thanks,” she said, finally.

Buffy and Angel slipped past him, heading up the stairs, and he was followed by Willow and Callie. He heard Xander saying goodnight to the pair of them, and found him sitting up on the couch with his head in his hands.

“How do you feel, Xander?”

The boy looked at him and groaned, pointedly, “I feel like I’ve got the worlds worst hangover and I didn’t even have the fun of getting drunk first.”

Again, he settled his hands on the sides of his head again, and soothed the nerves back down, making a proper job of it this time.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?”

“It’s healthy for the body to recognize pain. If I do that too often, then it will take a serious injury to affect you, and by the time it hurts there’s a good chance that any damage done would be permanent.”

“That wouldn’t be so good,” Xander stood up, still moving slowly like he was unsure whether to trust his legs or not. 

Rupert led the three teens out to the car, and moved the weapon bag from where Buffy had left it, sitting on the roof. Popping the boot, he threw it in and hopped into the car. Willow and Callie took the back seat without saying a word, and Xander hesitated, staring at him.

“Come on, in you get. The quicker you are, the sooner I can get you back home and you can get a solid night’s rest.”

Xander finally opened the door and hopped in, fastening his seatbelt, “Sounds good.”

“Callie, where did you live?”

“Over in Riverview Heights. Number 118.”

“Right, that’s the furthermost out of our way, so we’ll drop you off first. Just remember to get your parents to take you by the hospital tomorrow, if they don’t insist on doing so tonight.”

They drove in silence for ten minutes, before Callie spoke up again, “I thought I was going to die in there.”

“But you’re fine now,” Willow said, quickly, “You got out, and you’re going to be just fine.”

“Only thanks to all of you.” 

Rupert caught her glance towards Willow in the rear view mirror before she lowered her head again, but Willow seemed perfectly oblivious.

“So, do you people do this sort of thing often?”

“Oh, all the time,” Xander cut in, “in fact, this was a quiet night. Usually we have to get some of Professor X’s students to back us up.”

Callie giggled a little, and the sound was sweet and rich. Not long afterwards, he was pulling up outside her house. She unbuckled her seat-belt, and went to get out. Willow caught her by the arm, “Look. If you’re ever around Sunnydale High, then come by the library, if you want. Most of the time we’re there.”

“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

He kept the car there long enough to watch as she knocked on the door, and was drawn into a frantic embrace on the doorstep, and then finally entered the house. After that he dropped both Willow and Xander off, and finally headed back to his own place. Ethan greeted him at the doorway.

“Long night?” it asked in a casual tone. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon that old white-hot flame of hatred.

“Yes, rather,” he entered the house, and took the glass of whiskey that Ethan offered him, then followed it through to the couch, “I sent Buffy and a couple of friends to a party, then had to rescue her, and a couple of others, and I think I’m making some headway with Xander. I also saw one of Machida’s kin beheaded.”

“Did you burn the remains afterwards?”

“Hmm?” Rupert took a sip of his drink.

“Machida’s kin gave rise to the legend of the Hydra. If enough blood is spilt on its body, then it will grow another head, as well as its old one.”

“Oh,” Rupert muttered.

“Oh, indeed,” Ethan laughed and gave him a half-smile, “Where was the body?”

“Frat house, near Restfield.”

“I know the one. I’ll take care of it later, when I go out.”

“Thanks,” Rupert took another sip, and leaned towards the vampire a little, not quite making contact, but letting himself get a lot closer than he normally would have. He stared at the fire that was dancing in the fireplace through unfocused eyes, and simply let himself relax.


	17. 16 – Promises (Breaking Tradition)

Wordcount: 6,043

** Chapter 16 – Promises (Breaking Tradition) **

“Throw me tomorrow  
Seeing my past and letting go”  
\- David Bowie – Thursday’s Child

 

A white-blond vampire, with a tangible aura of malice was stalking around the length of an underground room, muttering to himself under his breath.

“Sure, I knew about the bloody Slayer, Slayers are easy. But this one can’t be, can she? Instead she has to have friends, and a bloody family. No-one ever bothered to tell me that there was an elder in this area either, did they? No, no-one ever tells things like that to poor ol’ Spike. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get my sodding head torn off. Elders are arseholes.”

He ran his hand through his hair, and shook himself, and then looked up as his companion drifted into the room, looking almost like she’d wandered in almost by accident. His expression softened, and he reached out for her, slipping his arms around her neck.

“What is it, Dru? What’s the matter, baby?”

“You’re taking so long, Spike. I thought you might have crumbled, and I was going to find nothing but dust.”

He took her head in his hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips, “Not yet, see, baby. I’m still in one piece, although this damned town is trying to put paid to that.”

She smiled at him, and her eyes glittered softly in the dim light. Her pale skin looked almost transparent, and he touched her again, just to make sure that his hand wasn’t going to pass through her, and then smirked to himself. If he didn’t know any better he’d think her madness was catching.

“I want to play a game, Spike.”

“Sorry, love. I need to work out how to put this Slayer in the ground, and then we need to get out of town before the elder around these parts takes offence.”

Her gaze became distant, and he froze, not wanting to distract her from the moment. Finally she spoke again, “If you get to her friends, then she will fall. Knock on his door on Samhain, and he will answer.”

She whimpered softly as his grasp tightened, and he growled, “Nothing ever happens on Halloween. Whose damn door are you talking about?”

“You’re hurting me, Spike.”

“Whose door?” he repeated.

She dropped a handful of white rose petals that he didn’t realize she had been holding, and watched as they fluttered to the ground, “His door, Spike. His door.”

Precariation. It had been several lifetimes since he’d had cause to think of the thorned beast that considered itself a cut above him and his type, but if that was who Drusilla told him to call then call he would. She was mad, but that didn’t make her any less accurate.

He grinned at her, “What sort of game did you want to play, pet?”

She drew a sharp nail along his ear, “I want a foxhunt. I want to be blooded.”

“Anything the lady wants. Stay close to me, though, pet. You’re not as strong as you used to be, remember?”

**XXX**

It was just over a week on from the party at the frat house, and things were on as much of an even keel as any potential disaster could be. Buffy, Xander and Willow had retreated to the library to discuss Snyder’s latest travesty, which was his ‘volunteer’ Halloween program. Judging by the conversation it seemed that they had been made to sign up this morning, and Buffy and Xander were none to happy about it. Willow, on the other hand, didn’t seem too concerned.

“I’m actually kind of looking forward to it,” Willow said, as she brushed her fringe out of her eyes, “I mean we’re too old to ask for candy, so what better way to spend Halloween then helping others enjoy the night?”

“It probably doesn’t hurt that you’re going to catch up with that new friend of yours afterwards, too?” Xander said. Willow and the girl, Callie had caught up a couple of times over the past week, once she had been given the all clear by the hospital.

“She’s pretty cool. Handled the fact that we live on the mouth of Hell a lot better then most of the people in Sunnydale seem to.”

“You should bring her by here one of these days,” Xander raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m working on it,” Willow said, “Just one thing at a time, yeah? She’s still getting over her introduction to the supernatural world.”

“Is something gonna happen?” Buffy asked, almost hopefully, looking towards him, “I mean, Halloween. Gotta be a big night for the creepy-crawlies. How many other nights of the year can they go undetected among the rest of the crowd?”

“Nothing ever happens on Halloween,” Rupert finally spoke up, as Buffy paused to take a breath, “You won’t get a quieter night.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Buffy said, as she slumped into her chair, “How on earth can it be a quiet night?”

“The souls of the dead are too protective over the souls of the living.”

Both Buffy and Willow stared at Xander, who looked uncomfortable under the sudden attention. 

“What? I read on occasion. Halloween is the night when the spirits of the dead cross back to visit loved ones. If a demon tried to start anything, then the guardians of the dead wouldn’t be all that happy.”

Rupert shot the boy a half-smile, “Not bad.”

Xander glanced at him, and then looked away just as quickly. He had been spending time around him, but he doubted that the boy would ever be comfortable around him again, as such. He didn’t blame him, either. They had lost something that he hadn’t even had a chance to take for granted.

Buffy sighed, “All I know is it’s one more excuse for Snyder to throw the book at me, if something goes wrong, and I know you say it won’t, but if our track-record is anything to go by, then for all I know we’re going to wind up with flying minions trying to play pin the tail on the human donkey.”

Rupert sniggered, only to find himself on the receiving end of Buffy’s glare.

“Sorry, I was just picturing it,” he said, sheepishly. 

“Well, don’t. If you picture it, then it’s halfway to happening.”

“I’ll endeavour not to then, shall I?”

“Yes please, do that.” 

“Very well then,” he gave a theatrical bow, “If my Slayer commands it, so shall it be.”

Willow giggled, and he received another glare from Buffy.

“We have to dress up and everything. Which, okay is kind of cool, but I am seriously going to be cramped by the little kids.” Buffy wrinkled her nose at the thought, then glanced at him again, “Are you sure you can’t schedule one teeny tiny disaster?”

“I thought you’d have been grateful for what will essentially be a night off,” Rupert said.

“It’s not that I’m not, but demons don’t leave chocolate fingermarks behind.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to… what is the way you Americans put it… suck up and deal. You’re meeting Angel afterwards aren’t you? That should give you something to look forward to.”

“What the…how did…I didn’t say I was meeting Angel. How did you know that?”

“Well let’s see,” Xander said, “could it be because it’s what you’ve been doing every night since that party?”

At that moment the bell rang for class.

“Did you need us here afterwards?’ Buffy asked, “Because otherwise, we were going to go costume shopping for tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing coming up. Enjoy your shopping.”

“I’ll catch you tomorrow morning, then, to report in after patrol.”

“Yes, you do that. The town should be getting quieter, but make sure you keep your wits about you.”

“Sure thing, Giles. See you.”

**XXX**

They had walked the length of the main street a couple of times, not that there was much main street in Sunnydale. Buffy tugged a bottle of water out from her backpack, and took a drink from it, then looked at her friends.

“I can’t believe there aren’t even any seasonal ‘One Week Only’ shops in town. Back in L.A there would have been five or six costume shops on the one street by now.”

“There’s always Party Town,” Willow said, wistfully.

“Oh, Willow,” Xander said, gently, “You haven’t been starving yourself have you? Because that’s probably the only way we’d ever afford a deposit on one costume from there, let alone three, and it’s so far out of town that our feet would be matchsticks by the time we got there.”

“What about the thrift store?” Willow suggested, after a few minutes of thought, “It’s cheap and handy, and we can probably find something that would work.”

“Now you’re talking,” Buffy said. Turning, she headed down to the Goodwill Store with her friends following behind, and led the way into the small shop. She and her friends spread out, each heading for a different section of the shop. Willow headed towards the back, where some of the more unique items were, while Xander headed over to the menswear, planning on going for the minimal effect. Buffy made a beeline for the vintage woman’s clothing to see if there was anything there that caught her eye.

Most of the items had colours on them that she wouldn’t be caught dead in, but in the end she found a stunning, old-fashioned dress that looked like it was from out of a Disney movie, that was well inside her price range. She took it up to the counter to get it rung up, and decided to curl her hair for the night. It would never stay like that, but it would be nice to dress up and feel all girly for a night. Beating on the undead was a good exercise in frustration management, but it would be even better to have a night off.

Once she had paid she drifted over to Willow to check out what she was eyeing up, and found her looking at a leather miniskirt that looked like it had walked straight out of the late eighties and onto the rack.

“Whoa.”

Willow looked at her almost guiltily, “It’s too much, isn’t it? I should put it back, and just cut eyeholes in an old bed sheet.”

“No, no, no, no, no. You are so totally not allowed to. You have to get that. There’s a waistcoat in my mom’s wardrobe that will be perfect with it. I can tease your hair, and we’ll give you the whole rock chick look. It’ll be perfect.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

Willow grabbed the price-tag, and flipped it over to check, and then sighed, “Well, that’s obviously not going to happen.”

“Give me what you were going to spend, and I’ll cover the rest.”

“You couldn’t,” Willow shook her head.

“I insist,” Buffy held out her hand, “Am I going to have to break out the Slayer strength on you?”

“Okay, I give,” Willow handed over the skirt and her cash, and the headed to the counter, just as Xander was being given a white plastic bag with his purchase inside it. 

They headed out of the shop, and Buffy looked at her watch. She still had a half hour before she had to get back home, “So what did you get?” she asked Xander.

He pulled out a shirt with the Superman symbol on it, and Buffy giggled.

“Mock all you like, but I bet I paid less then the two of you. By the time I dig up that old red sheet of mine I’m set.”

“If you say so,” Buffy said.

**XXX**

“You’re drifting like a shadow across the moon. You don’t touch anything, but you hide so much. The stars told me that you’re going to spill her blood.” 

Drusilla’s voice was a light trill, and her words were coherent. Spike paused, and cursed. He’d been trying to get out without alerting her, but he didn’t know why he bothered to try. When she had lost her mind it was as though her other senses had been enhanced to compensate for it. He didn’t know of any other vampire with hearing as good as what hers was.

“Just a couple of drops. I need it so that our new friend here can recognize the scent of her friends,” Spike nodded towards the shell of the demon that was curled up in the corner of the room. 

It was powerfully built and solid black, aside from the thorns which protruded from its body, which were dark red and ranged in length from a few centimetres on its head and torso, to as long as several inches on its elbows and hands. Its face was surprisingly batlike, and jagged teeth grew up over its lip from its lower gum. 

“Can I come? I want to see her dance to your tune.”

“It’s too risky, pet. I’ll have my hands full keeping this thing in one piece.”

The way that she whimpered made her sound like a kicked dog.

“Look, I’ll bring you home a treat, yeah? How about that?”

“You hear that, Miss Edith?” she asked her doll that she was dangling by its hair, swinging from her hand, “Daddy’s going to bring home a treat. If you’re a good girl you’ll be party to the feast.”

“There’s my girl,” he said, then turned his attention to the demonic shell, “Well come on you great lump.” He rolled his eyes, as it didn’t move. “Was that too complicated for you? Stand, and follow me.”

He waited as it slowly stood, then led it out the door. For the moment the only way to control it was with simple, direct orders. Its brain could process that, but not much else.

He knew how tricky this Slayer was, from when he had danced with her at the high school. She was creative, and highly focused, and he had barely escaped with his life. If she hadn’t been distracted by her friends, then he doubted that he would have. It had also been at the school that he had caught the elder’s scent. Surprisingly enough, the scent had been around the Slayer herself. He was fairly sure that he had also smelled Angelus on her, although he hadn’t mentioned that to Dru.

He guided the demon shell through the streets, to the area where the Slayer’s scent was the strongest, and settled in to wait. It was a few hours later, and he was growing restless when she finally came back along this way, looking bored. He saw the moment that she realized all was not as it should have been, as she tensed and looked around herself, drawing a stake and walking forward slowly, obviously ready for trouble.

“I know you’re there, so why don’t you come out and make this quick and easy for both of us? I’ve got a history test tomorrow, so I really need a good night’s sleep, not that you’d care about that.”

Spike shifted, anticipation getting the better of him, even as he reminded himself of his goal here tonight. He waited until she was a few steps closer, and then lunged the second she was in range. He was quick, but she was still quicker, stepping to the side and using an elbow to add to his momentum as he headed towards the tree that had been behind her. He only just managed to flip himself around, and used the momentum of his landing to add to his next lunge. This time he managed to scratch her, and get some of her blood under his nails.

“I remember you from that night at the school,” she said, as she faced him again.

“I’m glad to hear it. You should remember the thing that’s going to orchestrate your death,” Spike flexed his fingers, and raised a hand to lick at one of the nails. “You taste so sweet, too. Always a certain zest to a virgin’s blood.” 

He grinned at her, and then glanced away to see a little bit of light dawning in the eyes of the precariation. The fist that hit him struck like a sledgehammer, and he hit the ground rolling, so that he was back on his feet before she could line up the stake and stick it through him. He ran, and the precariation followed closely behind. Once he was sure that he had lost her, he turned to the shell of the beast that was with him and held out his hand towards it, so that it could taste her blood.

“This is what you’ll be hunting, once she’s weak enough,” he said to it, fondly, wondering whether it had enough intelligence to remember what he said without a driving presence in its head. The precariation wouldn’t be deadly until tomorrow night, when the spirit of one of the dead entered it, and took command. They had been created by a sorcerer back in the thirteen hundreds, solely for the purpose of revenge. The spirit took over, but the body would be driven to destroy all those that were linked to the blood that it tasted.

The faint sound of scratching reached him. Frowning, he cocked his head to one side, listening. The whimper of an animal in pain was a lot clearer this time. He headed down to the end of the alleyway that he had stopped in, and lifted the lid of the dumpster, to find a half-grown mongrel in it. It wasn’t much, but Dru was partial to dog’s blood. It would do for now.

He turned, with the pathetic, shaking animal under one arm, to find the precariation right behind him, “Sure move quietly for a big bugger, don’t you?” he said to it, as he sidestepped it and lifted up the nearest manhole cover to head underground. 

If he hadn’t been watching, then he wouldn’t have though that it had followed him down into the sewers, with how silently it landed. He was impressed with this thing. It would be fascinating to see what it could manage tomorrow night.

**XXX**

When Buffy woke up the next morning she simply lay in bed for a few minutes, listening to the familiar, comforting sound of her mom moving around downstairs, and thinking about her life and her friends. She hadn’t slept well last night, what with that thing that had ran after that vampire flitting through her dreams, as threatening as anything else that she had faced. 

When she thought about it she got a feeling in the pit of her stomach like it was going to be bad news. That feeling was one she had learned to trust since being called. A woman’s intuition was good, and a Slayer’s intuition was doubly so. There were times when it had saved her life.

Just as she began to think about getting up her mom came into the room, looking as bright as she always did in the mornings, “Are you alright, honey? I came in the check you three times last night. You were talking in you sleep, tossing and turning. I tried to wake you, but you were dead to the world.”

Buffy frowned, “What was I saying?”

“Something about vampires, I think.”

Buffy forced a laugh, “No more late night movies for me.”

“Not if they’re going to do that to you. Come on, you don’t want to be late today, with the Halloween program after school.”

“No, it’s be a tragedy to be banned from it,” Buffy muttered, sarcastically.

“What was that, honey?” her mom said, turning away from opening the curtains.

“Nothing, mom.”

“There are waffles in the kitchen, and if you’re quick then I can drop you off before I head to the gallery.”

“Sounds good,” once she could get the research started on this latest threat, then maybe she would feel a little better. She knew how fiercely the vampire that she had encountered last night fought, and she hadn’t been expecting it to run, which meant that his attack had been more than just another attempt on her life.

She got out of bed, and grabbed the first change of clothing that she touched, as her mom left her to get dressed. She tugged on a pair of blue jeans and a lose-fitting white top, and dragged her brush through her hair as she headed down the stairs with her backpack over one shoulder. She tossed the brush into her bag, grabbed a waffle that already had maple syrup poured over it, and leaned against the counter as she ate. Four was enough to set her on her feet for the day. She was just finishing up her last one, when her mom came back into the kitchen.

“You’re ready, then?” she asked.

“Yep. Ready and itching to go.”

“Lunch?”

“I’ll just buy something.”

“Really, Buffy?”

“Really.”

“So, you’re not going to be eating enough junk tonight, you have to have it for lunch as well.”

Buffy shrugged, “I have a good metabolism.”

“That’s true. Come on then, honey.”

Buffy grabbed her bag, and they headed out to the car. As she settled in the passenger seat, and her mom started the car she glanced at her, “You were coming back here after school to get ready for the night, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Willow’s coming over too. We were going to raid your closet for that leather vest of yours, with the thonging up the sides. She got the neatest leather skirt, so we were thinking ‘rock chick’. Xander was going to come by around five, and we were going to walk over to the school together, if that’s alright.”

“Sure. I’ll be working late tonight, so I probably won’t be back until after you’re done with the school program, but if you wanted to come by the gallery afterward you’re finished then we can go out for dinner. I’ll be spending the day unpacking boxes and cataloguing items, so I’ll probably be due for a break by then.”

She had originally been planning on asking if she could go to Willow’s afterwards, and spend the night there, but it wasn’t often that her mom made an offer like this, and she couldn’t remember the last time that they had just talked, just the two of them. It seemed that ever since Buffy had called as the Slayer she’d had to make excuses or spin stories, or just do what she had to. With no slayage scheduled for Halloween, then it would be a perfect opportunity to just relax.

“Thanks,” Buffy shot her a grin, as she pulled up outside the school, “that sounds great.”

Grabbing her bag she swung out of the car.

“See you, honey. Have a good day,” Joyce said to her back.

Buffy looked over her shoulder, “I will, thanks.”

As she got to the library she was surprised to find Xander already there, as well as Rupert. Xander turned towards the door as she came in, and she could see what Willow meant when she said that he looked exhausted. He and Rupert were sharing a table, and he was leaning back, almost as though he didn’t want to be near him. Things were less strained between the pair of them since that night when she had almost become snake food, but they were still tense. She figured that with the time they were spending together though, things could only get better. She didn’t need two of her best friends at odds with one another.

“Good morning, Buffy. How was patrol last night?” For a second his smile looked strained, and then it seemed to become more natural.

“A couple of newborns out at Shady Acres, and I have no idea what’s going to stop their type from trying to nibble necks tonight, then I ran into a vampire and this big, ugly demon thing when I was just about home. It was one of the ones that got away on teacher-parent night. White-blond hair and he had an accent that reminded me of yours.”

“And the demon, Buffy?” he prompted, after a few moments.

“Big and ugly, like I just said. I didn’t see much of it, but it looked like it was covered in hundreds of spikes. Red spikes, solid black beasty. Very solid, did what the vampire said, ran when he ran. It didn’t even try and tag me, but I get a real bad feeling when I think about it.”

He nodded, “Can you tell me anything else about it?”

“Taller than you by a couple of heads, easy. I didn’t see many details, with how fast they ran, sorry. All that the vamp did was scratch me, then he turned and bolted. Oh, and threatened me. Said that it was good that I remembered him, because I should remember the thing that was going to kill me. Or something like that, anyway. Nothing outside the run of the mill threats, you know?”

“I hope that will be enough to go on. Sometimes I do wish you would take closer notice when you encounter something new, though.”

“Hey, give her a break, yeah? I’m sure she did the best she could,” Xander spoke up, and Rupert shot him a look that was too quick for her to read.

At the moment Willow came in, panting, “Hey, sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

Xander stood, “We’ll catch you up on the way to class.”

“Sure. I guess.” 

Buffy glanced towards Rupert.

“That’s fine,” he said, “Just check back after class, before you head home. I may have something for you by then.”

“Sounds good,” Buffy followed Xander, who had made a quick exit, out the door with Willow beside her.

Rupert watched them go, and only then, only for a moment did he allow himself to feel the full weight of the two worlds that he was trying to keep separate, the two lives, his own and Xander’s, that he was trying to keep sane. Only the Gods knew how exhausting it was, and how heavily it was weighing on him.

Xander didn’t deserve any of this, but he was stuck with it, and Buffy didn’t deserve a despicable thing like him as a Watcher, but he was the only one that could be. He didn’t like himself, but he found that he was incapable of feeling any more guilt over it, either. Maybe if he could have, then he would have handled this better.

He’d done his years of mourning for his life, though. He just didn’t have the energy to do it again, for the sake of someone else. Life was what it was. The best thing that he could do was try to get them through it relatively intact.

**XXX**

The building was cold, but Spike didn’t notice that. He circled his new pet beast, casting a hand towards it with a savage grin on his face. Night had fallen half an hour ago, which was what he had been waiting for. He hadn’t been going to risk calling a mind to this body last night, not in such a confined space, nor had he wanted it hunting until the Slayer was off her guard.

He could feel Drusilla vibrating with coiled energy, almost back to her old self with the veil between the Ghost Roads and here weakened for the night.

“Come,” Spike’s voice was loud, clear and powerful, “Come, darkness, give thought and mind and will to your child. Come, take root in this form, give it the power it needs. Come, I implore you, come.”

This was the forth time he had repeated the chant, and this time he felt the change in the beast. He watched as the eyes changed from pitiless black balls, to a human-looking, intelligent brown. The voice, when it spoke, was strangely normal. There was a slight accent, and it was a little rough, but he was surprised that such a set of vocal chords as this body must have could produce such a normal sound.

“Samhain, is it? Ah, yes, I can feel it in the air.”

Spike’s smile softened a little, but was no less savage as he nodded to the beast, “Indeed. We’re going to break fundamental rule of Halloween, you and I. Got a name, my friend?”

It was strange to see the gaze of such a savage-look thing becoming distant, “They used to call Law. Lawrence. I have my own score to settle with one of your Slayer’s circle, so don’t you dare get in my way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Spike said, “Ah, just for the record, what one?”

“Her Watcher. He and I have history.”

“Brilliant,” Spike said, finally beginning to feel excited about this. He would watch her friends fall one by one, and then when she couldn’t stand life any longer he would drain her dry.

“Beautiful,” Drusilla finally left the doorway and came closer, “he glows like a black flame.”

“Of course he does, luv. For your eyes alone,” he stared at her for a moment, and then looked back at the demonic body, “Well, shall we do this? There’s a whole night out there that’s waiting for us to slice it open.”

The beast’s lips drew back into a feral grin, and Spike was glad that this thing was on his side.

“Coming, Dru?” he asked, holding his hand out to her.

“Ooo,” she squealed like a child, and took his hand, “yes, yes, yes.”

**XXX**

Rupert was walking down the street near where his home was, trying to relax a little. Usually he would go out and play chicken with his bike and a few cars when he felt like this, but with a potential new threat in town he was going to stay where he could easily be reached. He hadn’t yet found a clue to this new things identity, but he had time. If something was going to happen, then it wouldn’t be tonight.

The children had gone on their way with his blessing, and he was going home to do some more reading, and see if he couldn’t track down a lead in one of the books that he kept there.

Children in bright costumes and plastic masks ran from door to door in groups of anywhere between two to seven or eight, always with parents tagging along, and older children who hadn’t bothered to dress up looked like they were caught up in the mood of the night. He could see a couple of troublemakers out and about, too, but they were easily enough avoided, and they weren’t his problem.

Rupert let himself into the house and grabbed a copy of Meral’s Field Guide, and headed back out to the front of the place, flicking on the porch light so that he could sit and watch the people while he worked. He liked watching the world pass, and seeing people go about their normal lives. 

The night got later, and eventually the people along the street began to disperse, heading back home or to some other destination that he would never know about. He always took comfort from Halloween, the one night when people were safe to roam the streets. Not even Ethan, a child of chaos, would break that tradition.

He was about to head inside, when he heard a sound from the end of the street. It sounded like something that was a lot bigger than a child. His hand went to his side, and he felt the reassuring bulge in his pocket, that was his knife. Just because tonight was meant to be peaceful, that didn’t mean that he was going anywhere without it. He was completely prepared to laugh this off when he found nothing more than a dog, of course.

But he had to check to know. Closing his book and setting it aside he stood.

He was halfway down to the corner when some instinct told him to turn around, and he found a demon less than a foot behind him, cutting him off from the house. His knife was in his hand and extended without him being conscious of drawing it, and he took a couple of steps, backing away so that he could fight on his own terms. At the sound of a menacing laugh from behind him, he stopped.

Face to face with this beast, he could recognize what it was in a heartbeat. He wasn’t surprised Buffy hadn’t been able to describe it better. There weren’t that many distinctive features on it.

“I recognize that knife of yours,” it said in a voice that was surprisingly human and worryingly recognizable, “after all you did use it to slit my throat. I trusted you, and it was the last thing that I ever saw.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself to meet the brown eyes that were set in that twisted face, and wishing that he meant the words. He had lost some of that prized humanity of his when he had done what he had all those years ago.

“I don’t care whether you pretend to be sorry or not. I’m here to return the favour.”

The precariation, with Lawrence’s mind curled its massive hands into fists, and the bladelike protrusions there extended further. Rupert felt every single muscle in his body tensing, ready to move the second that he needed to. 

When it moved it was lightning fast, almost as fast as Ethan. He avoided the first swipe and the second, nicked its hand taking the tip off one its blades on the third, and then it spun and a tail that it had kept coiled behind its back caught his side, throwing him to the ground. It went for him, and he planted the blade in its left hand, straight up through the palm. Its fingers curled down and around the handle, and when it pulled its hand back the knife was ripped out of his grasp. 

It planted one of those massive feet on his chest, as it grabbed the handle of his knife and tore it free and threw it away into the darkness. He watched with a sinking feeling in the pit of his chest, but didn’t have time to contemplate it, as it went for him again. He threw his arm up to protect his throat, and one of the thorn-blades cut so deeply into his arm that it instantly went numb.

All of those spells that might have saved him were inaccessible through a white sheen of fear. Facing Ethan, or a vampire, or some other demon was nothing like facing something that was trying to kill him specifically. He could hear sounds, running footsteps, and he couldn’t raise his injured left arm to stop the blow this time, as it tore into the side of his throat.

He had enough presence of mind to try and hold the wound closed as warmth gushed out through his fingers, and the weight of the beast was thrown from him.

“Hold that wound, while I deal with this!” he heard a voice snapping, and it sounded like it was coming from miles away.

His hand was moved, and another smaller one was there, holding the wound with far more pressure than he could have managed. The world was grey, but he knew that he had to hold onto it. It was so hard, though, like trying to hold onto a handful of sand while standing in the waves.

“You have to do something,” said a frantic voice from right beside him.

“I know. You just keep the pressure on that.”

Then he felt something cool being held to his lips, “Come on, open your mouth you stubborn bastard. Open your mouth and swallow. I know you. You’re too determined to give up like this.”

It was hard, but he finally managed to send the command to his mouth, and a cool, bittersweet, rich flavour flooded his mouth. For a moment he though that he was going to drown, that he would choke with it in his throat, then he swallowed.

The hand was removed from his neck as the world swum out of focus and slowly went black.


	18. 17 – Turning Point (Changing the Rules)

Wordcount: 5,910

** Chapter 17 – Turning Point (Changing the Rules) **

“I am the one who sold his soul  
Forever gone to be the last man standing”  
\- HammerFall – Last Man Standing

 

As the world came back to him the first thing that Rupert was aware of was a chill seeping into his bones. He thought he’d known what being cold meant, but the small part of his mind that was still aware knew that he had never felt cold that was this intense. Sweat ran freely down his forehead, and even the heat of that was enough to feel like it was burning his skin. It felt like he had been baptised in boiling water. He would have screamed, but it was beyond him. In the midst of the pain he forgot how to.

The concrete that had been smooth and cool under him just before dug into him like it was coated with sandpaper. Twisting and writhing he tried to pull away, but couldn’t find anything that gave him relief. His mouth was open wide in a silent scream and every breath that he drew was a struggle in itself, pulling burning, acrid air into his desperate lungs.

He wanted to retreat back into the darkness that had welcomed him before, but something stopped him, as the chill settled over him even more heavily. Sounds became as sharp and clear and brutal as nails being drawn down a blackboard.

 _Please_ he wanted to beg, but couldn’t form coherent words out loud. Even his mind struggled with the task. _Please_. Not that he knew what he would be begging for if he could have done so. Some form of relief, a release from this pain. He knew what the only release would be, he wasn’t that far gone. He just wished that he were.

Closing his eyes to the blinding moonlight he curled into a ball that was as tight as he could manage and tucked his arms against his ears trying to escape from the noise. Sweetness lay on his tongue and teeth; a sweetness that he knew instinctively was poison, a poison that he wanted more of. Poison would end this suffering and he didn’t care how.

Another wave of cold, tied into a fresh wave of agony rolled over him and this time he broke his silence, mouth opening in a thin screech as his muscles contracted uncontrollably and his back arched.

Then, blessedly, a single spot of coolness was moving towards him. Blinded and deafened, helpless as an infant, he reached out towards it and felt his entire body sag with relief as he was moved, lifted clear of the burning earth and held back against that coolness.

Agony still twined through him but at least there was some relief in being held. Shaking like a beaten dog, he clung to that single spot of coolness as he fought to draw breath into his lungs. He didn’t even know why he was fighting to live, aside from the fact that he couldn’t stop, no matter how much he wanted to.

**XXX**

“What the hell did you do to him?” Buffy launched herself towards Ethan, fists swinging as she watched Rupert’s expression contorting. He fought the air itself as Ethan moved towards him and crouched down to pick him up, drawing him into his chest. “What the hell did you do?”

Ethan ignored her, in favour of tightening his grasp and shifting Rupert into a more comfortable position against his body.

She swung at him. With a single hand, without letting go of Rupert, he caught her fist and tightened his grasp just to the point that told her exactly what he was capable of if he chose to do so. Then in one swift movement he yanked her forward, planted a hand against her shoulder and shoved her back with enough force that when she hit the wall near the door she saw stars.

Groaning she sat up and shook out her muscles in an attempt to shake the blow off.

“Shut up and help me. Open that fucking door for me, or clear off,” Ethan’s voice was low and he was obviously pissed off, “I need to concentrate.”

She only dared to take her eyes off the vampire and man for a heartbeat, as she opened the door and stood to the side so that he could go in first.

“Is there anything that I can do?” Willow asked, looking as anxious as Buffy had ever seen her.

“The last thing that he needs is an untrained sorceress around leaching off his magic while he’s like this,” Ethan’s reply was cold and unfeeling, as he climbed the steps to the front porch, without looking back, “the best thing that you can do is go. Buffy, come in.”

Buffy glanced at Willow, “You can ring my mom and tell her that I’m hanging out at yours, and I might spend the night. That would be good.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

Buffy followed the pair into the house and locked the door behind her, then headed for the sitting room. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. For a brief moment Ethan took his eyes off Rupert and glanced towards her.

She watched as his free hand moved through the air above Rupert’s body, dipping down to touch certain points, his forehead, over his heart and then over his lungs. Then he ran a light touch down his right side, and then he almost kneaded at the flesh over his heart for a moment, and touched his head again. All the time he was constantly muttering something in low, musical sounding notes, forehead wrinkled with concentration.

Eventually he spared another glance for Buffy, “You said to do something, and I did. I did what I had to, to save him.”

“You saved him, then why _the hell_ is he like this?”

“The damage was extremely serious, Slayer. He lost a lot of blood very quickly, and using my blood was the only way to allow him any chance of survival.”

She frowned at that, and after a few more moments of the vampire muttering and touching other points of Rupert’s body, the inside of his thigh on the right, the left side of his neck and the skin over his heart, she spoke again.

“You’ve done that before, haven’t you? He never really talks about it, but you have, I‘ve picked up that much. So why the hell is this happening?”

He pressed his hand down, fully flat over Rupert’s heart, and she saw Rupert’s body shudder and jerk like it had been shocked.

“Because I’ve done this before. He already had quite a lot of it in his system. His body has adapted, and it is responding. This is what we call the turning point.”

Those two last words almost sounded like they deserved capital letters, “The turning point? What the hell is that?” she had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew what it was, but she still had to ask.

“Hs body has absorbed enough of my blood that it’s trying to push him over the line from human to vampire without me draining him. There is more of my blood in his system than his own, at the moment.”

He moved his hand from Rupert’s heart, to over his head and rested it there for a good few minutes. His concentration was painfully obvious on his face, and he was completely focused on what he was doing. Eventually he lowered his hand back to his heart and a couple of the wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out a little.

“If I can keep him alive for the night, then his own blood will wipe out some of mine and he will be past the danger point.”

“Why the hell would you care about doing that, when you’re demonic yourself?”

Buffy felt safe enough asking that question while Ethan was concentrating on what he was doing.

“Any other time I would let nature take its course. But I haven’t yet bound his soul, and I have my own reasons for wanting to do so.”

“You want to bind his soul then still turn him into what you are. Do you have any idea how much he hates the thought of that?”

“Far more than you do, Slayer. But the world doesn’t have a say in the matter and nor do you. If you try to do anything foolish, like kill him before he is turned, then I would see to it with my last breath that you were slaughtered. Even if you manage to kill me, then you seal the fate of the world yourself.”

Buffy didn’t reply.

“Make yourself useful and get me something to drink,” Ethan snapped, sounding distracted as he concentrated on his task again, “I can’t risk letting him go.”

The request was reasonable enough, but the unreasonable part of her mind was still determined to blame him for all of this.

“Where the hell do you get off ordering me what to do?”

She watched as a ripple passed through him and the skin on the hand that was supporting Rupert’s head yellowed. The nails lengthened to wickedly long, curved black talons like something that wouldn’t have been out of place on a wild animal. It was fitting really, because for all of his charm and that polished human act he was still just an animal.

As he lifted his head she felt her breath catch in her throat. He had morphed fully then, which she had gathered was a rare thing for him. Amber and black eyes, lit from within by a hint of wild red fire glared at her, and now that she was a lot closer than she had been last time she could see that the skin on his face had a yellow tinge to it, too, like aged paper. His brow, though, looked smoother than that of most other vampires she had seen, and when he spoke, or rather snarled it was in a guttural tone that wasn’t far off a growl and was distorted by one of the longest sets of fangs that she’d seen. It wasn’t just the fangs, either. All his teeth had changed, sharpening to wicked points that would clearly be able to do very real damage.

“You will do as I tell you, or you will get out. I don’t have the patience to argue with a child at the moment.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, and then shook her head to snap herself out of the state that she’d almost fallen into. She stood up and told herself to avoid looking him in the eye when he was like this.

“Um, don’t kill me for asking, but when you say something to drink… I know there’s only normal food in the fridge.”

“The basement. You want the first wine rack to the left. I keep some fifty-fifty mixes there for when I don’t feel like going out. Which isn’t often, granted, but it does happen.”

Rupert whimpered and twisted himself around, pressing further into Ethan’s chest, effectively ending the conversation.

“So cold…” she just heard him saying as she left the room. She didn’t catch Ethan’s answer as she looked at the doors. If this place was the same as hers then that meant that that was a closet, and that was a spare room, that was a dining room and this door here was the basement.

She opened the door and cool air rose to meet her as she found herself staring down a pitch-black set of stairs. Reaching for the light-switch to the side she flicked it and blinked as the basement was flooded with the harsh illumination of a single unshaded bulb. The light made the shadows in the corners appear to be a lot deeper than they should have seemed. She noted the three wine racks, and the tunnel access which obviously led underground. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised by that, but she was. She supposed that it made sense though, considering the speed and ease that Ethan seemed to move about with during the day, as well as at night.

There was no railing, and the staircase was cut stone. Cautiously she made her was down it, unsure about trusting that great big open gaping hole over the far side of the basement. She stopped beside the first wine rack and grabbed a bottle. Any old one would do she supposed. It wasn’t like the wine was untainted after all. With the thought of exactly what fifty-fifty was in this case, she pulled a face and wondered how the hell he’d got the blood bottled. Then she decided that she was probably better off not knowing.

With one last glance at the tunnel access, she mounted the stairs and headed back towards the living room, bottle in hand only to pause in the doorway. 

Ethan had shifted back to his human face, sweat was already beginning to dampen his forehead and while that fierce concentration was still obvious, the hand that wasn’t moving around what she figured were vital spots was gently twining fingers through his hair with a tenderness that she would never have suspected him capable of. The way that Rupert steadfastly refused to talk about much of anything to do with his vampiric partner, and knowing what other vampires were capable of she had assumed that the relationship was something that was bloody and violent and that they would have been on completely uneven footing.

Yet here was evidence to the contrary. He wasn’t just keeping Rupert alive for the sake of his soul, or for the world, he was doing it for himself. Maybe the reason that Rupert never spoke about Ethan, then, was because it was too tender to find the right words for?

“I know you’re there.”

Ethan didn’t glance up and all of a sudden she felt like she had been caught out doing something that she shouldn’t be. Without a word she crossed the room and held out the bottle.

“Did you want me to open it?”

He took the bottle before she finished her sentence and holding the bottle by the neck drove his thumbnail into the cork and popped it out.

“Guess not then,” she said to herself, and then crossed back to the other side of the room. She sat down in the chair that was directly beside the door, just in time to pull a face and watch him tilt the bottle up to take several long swallows. When he lowered it again it was already half-empty.

Her expression of distaste furthered as Ethan grasped the sides of Rupert’s face with the hand that looked like it had been doing the vital work and squeezed at his cheeks gently, encouraging him to open his mouth. Slowly he tilted the bottle up, and Buffy swallowed against a touch of nausea as she saw Rupert’s throat working, swallowing down some of the foul mixture.

“Okay, full points for disgusting.”

“The alcohol in it will help encourage his body to relax which is something that he really does need, and the blood in it will do a little to placate mine. Believe me when I say I need all the tricks that I have, Slayer. This isn’t a process that was designed to be stopped once it starts.”

He let Rupert take another mouthful, and then lowered the bottle, glancing towards Buffy as he did so.

“Were you planning on spending the night, then?” he asked and although she couldn’t be certain she thought she saw something that was closely related to amusement there.

“Yeah, I think I was. No way am I going to leave him, not while he’s like this. I know there’s nothing that I can do, but I still have to be here. Just in case, you know?”

“Then you may want to consider grabbing yourself Rupert’s box of beer from out of the cupboard, or some food. It’s going to be a long night for you, and he certainly won’t need any of it tonight.”

She was surprised by the offer but she didn’t let it show. Instead with a nod she stood again, and slipped through to the kitchen. A little bit of poking around revealed a couple of twelve packs of some brand that she didn’t recognize, both unopened and in a cool, dark cupboard with grating on the bottom that looked as though it lead straight down into the basement.

Grabbing one of the boxes by the handle she turned and headed back out to the lounge and lowered herself into the same seat as last time. She opened the box and grabbed a bottle out before she settled back.

Frowning to herself, she turned it over in her hands looking at it. A sound drew her attention back over to the other side of the room, and seconds later a glint of silver was flying in her direction. Reaching up she snatched it out of the air automatically, and stared.

Right, it was keys. Keys, with a bottle opener attached. As she set the lid against the opener and flicked it off, she found herself smirking. How many people would agree that it wasn’t a good idea to drink with a vampire? Most would probably even be right. But Ethan had already proved that he could stop her whether she was sober or not, and almost with one hand tied behind his back. Hell, for that matter he could probably do it with magic if both hands were tied, too.

Somehow knowing that helped her to feel a lot safer around him. Eyeing the pair over the top of the bottle she took a small sip of her drink.

“Does it always hurt like that? Changing, I mean.” her voice sounded way too loud in the quiet room.

“No,” Ethan’s voice was low and strained as he replied, “it gets a lot worse. But it’s usually over a lot quicker, too,” he drew another draught from his bottle and tilted the last swallow up to Rupert’s lips, “His body is trying to die, Slayer. His heart is on the verge of stopping, still, and if that happens then the human blood that’s still in his veins is no longer travelling around his system keeping his body alive. It that happens then my blood can turn on his and alter the rest of it. That’s when the real pain starts. This is agony, because my blood is trying to chill his body and his own is trying to warm it and keeping it going, but believe me, it gets much, much worse.”

She took another mouthful of her own drink, “If your blood is trying to cool him down, then wouldn’t it be better to warm him up as much as you can, rather than holding him like you are?”

Ethan nodded towards the empty bottle, “Get us another one. In fact, while you’re down there you may as well grab a couple.”

She knew from before that there was no point in arguing with him, and if that horrid mixture was helping to keep Rupert alive, then she wasn’t going to waste time. Putting her bottle on the ground beside her seat she stood and headed back to the basement, realising as she opened the door to it that she’d left the light on last time.

That scuffling noise from the tunnel access that she was trying not to think about sounded too big to be a rat. Okay, so she doubted Ethan would have an unguarded entrance to the house, but she still didn’t like what she couldn’t see. She made her way down the stairs and grabbed the first two bottles that she reached, before leaving the basement as quickly as she could. This time she made a conscious choice to leave the light on, so that she could see exactly what she was dealing with.

Back in the lounge she set both bottles within easy grabbing distance and picked her one back up before she sat back down again. With one more swallow she finished it to the halfway mark and glanced towards Ethan who was already drinking deeply again. The strain in his expression was becoming more and more obvious, but when he spoke again he sounded a little better.

“At the moment any warmth at all is enough to feel like it’s burning his skin. If he were warmed before his body can handle it, then the pain would send him into shock and that alone would be enough to kill him. It’s a fine balance, and it’s hard enough to keep him from slipping into shock as it is. All that I’m doing right now is to keep his body going. That should give his blood some chance to repair some of the damage.”

One word there leapt out at Buffy and she frowned at it as she drained the rest of her bottle and uncapped a fresh one, before asking something that should have occurred to her a long time ago, in a tentative tone of voice.

“Damage, Ethan? Damage? Will he still be himself if he pulls through this?” Okay, so she knew that she sounded a little hysterical, but who the hell would blame her? If Rupert wasn’t going to be himself anyway, then she couldn’t see the point of putting him through this torture. If it had no point other than to keep his body alive then she didn’t think it was worth it.

His eyes flicked up, and Buffy could see an internal debate happening, “Given time to recover, then he should be fine. It will take a few days, maybe a couple of weeks for him to be entirely himself, but after that… After all, he hasn’t stopped breathing for any significant length of time, and his blood is too closely tied to mine for anything to properly cool down.”

“What do you mean any significant length of time? Are you saying that he’s actually stopped breathing?”

“His lungs were the first organ that my blood hit. It’s the same with anyone that hits the turning point. The lungs are shut down so that there’s no fresh oxygen getting in, and then it hits the heart to stop circulation. After that our blood attacks the human blood. The last thing to alter is the brain, and even then the body’s new master still gets all of the human’s thoughts and memories.”

The night slowly got later. Buffy watched, sipping at the beer and keeping Ethan in supply as bottle after bottle was used up. It was around one in the morning before Buffy spoke again, and by that time her backside was beginning to go numb and she was well aware of every single one of the lumps and dips of the chair that she was sitting on.

“Has this ever been done before?”

Ethan frowned, and he shifted Rupert a little in his arms.

“I’ve heard of it five times in all the time that I’ve been alive. It’s always parents keeping children alive, or lovers keeping their partners alive. The halfblooded has survived it three times, and two of those were parents keeping their children going. Only two of the casting sorcerers have on the other hand, one of each. The other three times the exertion has killed the caster. For a mage to wipe himself out magically isn’t a good thing.”

“In the cases when no-one has survived, then how do you know about them?”

“I know because the vampire that takes over is… different. Unable to separate natural impulse from human desire, they starve themselves to a point and then go mad with the hunger. If you know the signs then you can recognize it.”

“Enlighten me. How is that any different from the result of a normal demonic rampage?”

Ethan chuckled to himself, “A normal demonic rampage, as you coin it, is, for a vampire at least, purely to feed. No-one survives. Other desires may be indulged at a whim, but, normally it’s about sating the thirst. The thirst is like nothing you could ever imagine.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh, as you put it. When those two halfblooded that didn’t survive gave in to their thirst there were people left half-drained and unconscious, and every single human urge that they still carried was indulged.”

It didn’t take much thought for Buffy to get exactly what that meant.

That also left her with another question, one that she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted the answer to. But if she didn’t ask it, then she knew that it would have her tossing and turning at night.

“How is that any different from what you plan to do, anyway? I mean, binding his soul beforehand, leaving human impulse and desire behind.”

“It differs,” he broke off and concentrated on Rupert, talking again in one of those funky languages that she couldn’t recognize and then picked up exactly when he left off, “in the fact that binding his soul allows his human self total control over a body that’s altered by demonic blood. It’s not a half-dead human brain struggling for control with a demonic persona.”

“That makes sense.”

“Quiet, now,” Ethan said in that tone of voice which was half ordering and half snapping.

Looking at him she didn’t think that she had ever seen anything that was as pale as he was right then.

She closed her mouth, and watched as the hand that had still been moving around over Rupert’s body fell to the side as Ethan stopped moving entirely. The minutes drew out, stretching into one another, and it felt like an age before he spoke again, lifting the bottle of blood wine to his own lips and then Rupert’s again first.

“His heart is beating on its own again.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yes, but it means that this is also a critical time. His blood has fought mine back enough that it can flow on its own, but if his body cools down now then my blood will turn on his, and there won’t be any chance of stopping the change after that. His body is already exhausted and depleted.”

Standing, Ethan turned and rested him on the couch, taking a few steps back.

“Go and grab the feather quilt from the linen cupboard and put the kettle on while I get the fire going.”

She moved instantly, going out to fill the jug and set it on the element, before stopping at the cupboard on the way back into the lounge to grab the quilt. As fast as she was, he was faster. He’d already shoved the couch forward so that it was right in front of the fireplace, and set the fire so that it was ready to blaze. As she came back in he flicked a hand towards it.

“Incendium,” he said, and she was impressed by the way a healthy blaze sprung up in the hearth. He turned towards her, “Give me that blanket.”

She tossed it to him and he caught it and in one swift movement had it securely tucked around Rupert’s now shivering form.

“He needs body warmth, Slayer. Sit and hold him.”

She looked at Ethan and blinked, “Me?”

“Yes you, damn it. I fail to see another living body in the room.”

All of a sudden feeling pressured she circled around the couch, and making sure that he only touched the blanket, Ethan picked Rupert up. As she sat down he rested him in Buffy’s grasp. She could feel him shaking through the blanket, as she held him. Ethan rested the box of beer on the coffee table that he slid across to rest next to the couch, and placed the blood wine beside it.

“Make sure he still gets that at regular intervals.”

“Sure,” she fished out with one hand and grabbed the bottle that she’d already half drunk, finishing it off just before the jug began to whistle. 

Ethan headed out of the room, and Buffy put the empty bottle down on the ground before she reached out and grabbed the wine bottle, taking a sniff at it out of curiosity. The smell of it turned her stomach, although she supposed that it would have been a different matter had she been carrying demonic blood too. The shivering of the man in her arms worsened, so Buffy raised the bottle to his lips. She was surprised by his speed as his hand flashed out towards it.

Ethan was there, grabbing it and pushing it back down before she could react.

“Instinct,” he offered by way of explanation, “he’s operating on pure instinct at the moment. He knows what makes him feel better, and he’s determined to get it. That is something that you’ll need to watch; because if he gets his hands on that bottle then he’ll drain the lot and it will make him sick, which is something else that his body will not be able to handle right now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” she nodded to him and her wariness must have been obvious in her voice, because for a moment Ethan actually looked sympathetic.

“I should have warned you.”

As Ethan spoke he let go of Rupert’s hand and grasped the wine bottle. He pulled it free and set it back on the coffee table. Then he turned and headed back to the kitchen to do whatever he had wanted the kettle boiled for. She held him a little tighter and shifted herself to expose him to the heat of the fire a little better. With a whimper that sounded no stronger that a child’s, he twisted himself around and buried his face against her body as well as he could with the blanket tight around him. 

Raising a hand she drew her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair in the same way that Ethan had been doing earlier. Stroking his back she made a gentle shushing sound like her mother did whenever she used to have a fever or nightmares. Sometimes it was still something she missed.

She kept it up until she heard Ethan come back into the room, and she glanced up to see what he had been doing. He was carrying a pair of hot water bottles in one hand and a fresh bottle of the blood wine in the other. He was also walking slowly and he was shivering and pale, far more so than he had been even half an hour ago. He sat the wine bottle down beside the other one and then he circled around and tucked one of the hot water bottles into the blanket between Rupert’s chest and arm. The other was tucked into the blanket at his feet.

Then he grabbed the wine bottle that was three quarters empty and drained the rest of it before he shook his head.

As he put the empty bottle down she noticed how badly his hand was shaking, “That’s not going to work. It’s nowhere near enough to hold me, not now. I need to go out for a little while.”

“What?” she asked. She was unsure whether she had heard him correctly.

“Out. I need to go out, Slayer. I need to feed, and I need to do so now while I’m still in my right mind. Unless you wish to find a scene of utter devastation in your precious town in a couple of nights, that is. The thirst is a constant, yet the last time I felt it quite like this was during my first few years of being turned. It will only get stronger, too.”

“He…you’re…he’s like this, and you’re going out to feed?”

“You’ll be fine with him, now, and I won’t be long. Believe me when I say that keeping him alive means as much to me as it does you.”

In the end there wasn’t really anything that she could do.

“Fine, just… please make sure you’re quick about it.”

She looked away from him, and pretended that she had the power to dismiss him.

“As quick as I can be, Slayer.”

He was out the door before she could say another word. Instead she grumbled to the empty space where he had been, as she popped the cap from the fresh wine bottle and raised it to Rupert’s lips, keeping an eye on his hands as she did so, although he seemed more interested in hanging onto the hot water bottle right now.

“Slayer this, Slayer that. You could try calling me by my name for once, you know.”

**XXX**

It was far later than it usually was when he went out to hunt, but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t hunting for pleasure, it was a job that he had to do if he wanted to be able to function, and that ability was something that he knew he would need. He had lied outright when he had said he was sure Rupert would be the same after this, and he also had his own reason to lie about the number of times this had been attempted.

He didn’t know a single person that had been exactly the same after surviving something like this, and he had a feeling that the Slayer would have a different definition of what being fine would mean.

Thirst sharpened his senses. He could hear rats underground, and the heartbeats of birds roosting on the ledges of building. Every possible source of food almost seemed to be begging for him to just take it, but he needed something far bigger than a rat to slake him this time around. 

In the end he found what he was looking for, a teenager lying comatose in the grass near the park, with empty cans littering the ground around her. He turned and bit her, making short work of her. There was no time or call for finesse, and while it didn’t satisfy him, at least it took the edge off the thirst so that he could function on a slightly more rational level again. 

He would need to feed properly tomorrow night, but at least that would be enough to get him through until then.

Tomorrow night he would pick up that boy of Rupert’s, too. He would need contact with Rupert over the next couple of weeks while Rupert was recovering, if he didn’t want to become a part of Sunnydale’s smorgasbord.

He had a feeling that Rupert wouldn’t be too impressed if that happened, although he wouldn’t thank him for bringing the boy over, either. If he was going to be anything like those precious few others that survived the turning point and maintained humanity then he would be animalistic for the next couple of weeks.

Rupert would need human blood to build him back up, and he would act without being capable of thinking. It would be days before he was up and about but a couple of weeks before his mind began to come back.

Only then would he be able to see if any serious damage had been done.

Even if Rupert recovered completely, then he would still need to supplement his diet with blood on occasion. He was too close to the turning point to avoid it now. All that he could do by trying to avoid it would be to make himself very sick.

A few things were going to have to change.

** End of Part Two **

** To Be Continued **

**Wordcount overall: 105,189**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos? I'd love to know -what- you like about the story. :)


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